Home From The Sea

HOME FROM THE SKA

CAIUAIN hlU ARTIUm 11. KOS'IttON, K.H.l., U.ll , U,N U (Huil.)

FROM THE SEA

BY

SIR ARTHUR H. ROSTRON

K.B.E., R.D., R.N.R.

(Late Commodore of the Cunard Fled)

CASSITX & COMPANY LTD,

LONDON, TORONTO, hUilLBOURNF & SYDNEY

i(j3i

rRiHrst} IK onsAT bkitain

This book is dedicated to all rrlyVtJld- shipmates
who have so loyally helped me tQ-.^htarry on ” ;
to the thousands of passengers who have crossed
the ocean with me and the many who have
honoured me with their iriciidship and whose
hospitality and Itindncss I have received in such
a marked degree.

It is dedicated to my old shipmates in a sense
of gratitude, knowing full well that it was to them
I owed so much of the success I enjoyed during
the years I had command.

My late passengers can now read of things I
would never talk about, and I would mention that
it was to th(! wirelo.ss officer in the Cnrpathia,
through his attention to duly, and his interest in
his work, that I am indebted for the opportunity to
do something really useful, and it was then that I
got my feet firmly planted on the ladder of succe.ss.

CONTENTS

CHAP. PACE

1. Good-bye to the Sea i

2. Adventuees m Sail 6

3. Into Steam 29

4. Command 46

5. The Loss of the Titanic 55

6. War— Why we Failed in Gallipoli . . . S5

7. SiDLUGirrs on “ The Snow ” . . . • 1 05

8. H.M.JI.S. Mauretania 123

y. II.M.S. Tubhr Jto.s’/i 142

10. The Social Whirl 155

11. More Atlantic Nioim . , . , .172

12. The Americans 193

13. “ The Liner she’s A Lady ” . . . . aio

14. "J’hen and Now 227

15. A Word eor the Men 243

16. “Go to Ska, my Lads” 252

17. What of the Future I’ 275

vil

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

TO

Captain Sir Arthur Rostron, K.B.E., R.D., R.N.R.
(Retd.) ....... Frontispiece

R.M.S. Mauretania .......

Titanic passengers coming aboard the Carpathia

Fifth Officer Lightoller bringing in the Titanic's boats .

One of the Titanic's collapsible boats ....

H.M.S. Mauretania in 1918, camouflaged

Captain Rostron, with Mr. and Mrs. Ogden, who took the
photographs of the Titanic's boats ....

Captain Rostron congratulated by Mr. Cotterell, South-
ampton manager of the Cunard Line, after record voyage
to Cherbourg

R.M.S. Berengaria .... . . .

FACE

PAGE

32

56

80

80

128

176

212

240

IX

HOME FROM THE SEA

CHAPTER I

GOOD-BYE TO THE SEA

C OMING into port always brings a thrill which a
thousand repetitions cannot stale. Especially
when it is home port !

I remember during sailing-ship days the excitement
of making port following months during which wc had
never once seen land ; yet to the last occasion, when
under my command a modern liner edged to its berth,
the glamour never faded. My first docking— as an
apprentice in a clipper — was in San Francisco after
a voyage of one hundred and sixty-five days, during
which we had been blown by terrible storms far into
the Antarctic ; the last was the Beyengaria arriving in
Southampton on time.

What an enormous, nearly unbelievable, span of
progress is the space between those first and last
voyages — and what a wealth of happenings and
memories mark the interval ! More than a score of
ships have been home to me and now the sea and
ships are but a memory. And of those vessels the
pride must always be the Mauretania, the Gunarder
that held the Blue Riband of the Atlantic so long ;

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in my eyes the most beautiful liner afloat ; the vessel
that seemed a living thing to me ; that never failed.

To show how wonderful she was — and is — I may tell
you that there have been occasions when for four
consecutive voyages she has crossed the Atlantic from
New York to Cherbourg with not a dificrcncc of ten
minutes in the time between the best and “ worst.”
Think of it ; imagine yourselves driving a motor-car
at thirty miles an hour without stopping all day and
all night for nearly a week, doing that on four separate
occasions and arriving at the destination with only
two, three, or five minutes’ difference. I always did
my utmost to arrive so that I could catch the three-
fifteen from Southampton to Liverpool. They used
playfully to call it the Rostron Express and, if by
chance, I was not on the platform when the train was
due to depart the guard wondered whether, after all,
it really was Tuesday ! Only once did I miss it.
What a sidelight on the reliability of the big ships that
nowadays make the Atlantic run ! The Mauretania
kept a time-table that a railway might envy.

For me, there will be no more goings and comings,
I have docked finally in the Home Port and, perhaps,
to no other man on earth is it given to appreciate home
as greatly as the deep-sea sailor who has spent nearly
half a century wandering the Seven Seas. And here,
in my shore cabin looking out on the rolling Hamp-
shire Downs (that give the suggestion of some tempes-
tuous sea), come naturally long thoughts of all the
voyages that are past. The far-off adventurous trips

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GOOD-BYE TO THE SEA

in the old clipper, Cedric the Saxon ; dramatic calls
through the ether when some ship in distress has sent
out those tragic letters S.O.S. — most sensational of
all, that night when I raced the Carpathia amid the ice
to rescue the Titanic survivors ; periods of turmoil such
as when I kept the bridge for as long as eight days with
but a break of ninety minutes. Old storms blow again
through a mind attuned to the past, and, to be sure,
I recall many a quiet and pleasant voyage, when, be it
said, round my table have gathered some of the most
notable men and women of my generation.

There is, perhaps, no more favourable time to see
these celebrities at their natural best. For, afloat, the
busiest worker is, at least partly, off duty and the
camaraderie of life on board ship is proverbial. A
man loosens the bonds that customarily hold him,
breathes easier, talks with less restraint and shows a
side of himself that is often mostly hidden. At my
table I have made more friends than most men make.
Those chairs have been occupied by the titled, states-
men, writers, scientists, artists, travellers, ambassadors
— all men and women who mean much to the world.
The deck of such a ship as a Cunarder is, indeed,
something of a stage which is trodden by every one
who plays any considerable part in the affairs of
the nations.

These will step and talk through the pages that
follow.

I have heard that climbers, coming down from
heights, have but to shut their eyes and live again

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HOME FROM THE SEA

the scenes of the day, retrace the steps they have
trodden over rock and ice. In a similar way come
back to me millions of miles of sea I have traversed
and thousands of persons I have carried — with never a
life lost through the ship’s cause. That thought brings
justification of a simple faith that goes with the sailor, a
faith which long ago formed the basis of my philosophy
in life — there is a Providence which shapes our ends.

It has guided me, both during the War and in peace,
through hours of peril. Let me refer, for instance, to
one that comes back out of the riot of 1914-18.

I was in Marseilles on my way to England. My
ship then was the hernia and my sailing time was 2.30
in the afternoon. Just prior to that hour many
rumours were current in the port of submarines out
in the bay. There was, indeed, no doubt that the
enemy were busy outside the harbour. The pilot
came to me and said we could not sail.

“ My orders are to sail at 2.30,” I told him, “ and
at that hour we leave.”

We did. Before reaching the He d’lf, only a mile
from the Grande Jetee, we passed a ship flying signals.
They informed us she had been chased into harbour
by submarines. Our pilot was in haste to be away.

A little farther we found ourselves amid a number
of boats carrying the passengers and crew of a ship
which had been torpedoed.

I received an official warning of a danger zone
several miles in circumference where the enemy had
been operating. It lay directly in our course. We

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GOOD-BYE TO THE SEA

kept on, passed over the centre of that zone — and
never so much as sighted a periscope. To be sure I
had argued that, just as lightning is said never to strike
twice in the same spot, so was our proper course at
least as safe as any other, though, naturally, we zig-
zagged and did a bit of dodging about.

Yet when we were ten miles at sea, news was flashed
that, in that same circle of danger we had just crossed,
the enemy had struck again and another ship had
perished !

Even in peace time we sometimes received news
of ships being in trouble, perhaps steering gear
damaged in bad weather, or may be that the cargo
had shifted, causing anxiety to those on board.
The Other vessels in the vicinity could render any
necessary assistance without fear of enemy attention,
weather and sea being the only difficulty.

It is no use saying such news need not cause any
anxiety to other ships. It does ; the sailor has his
superstitions just as he has his faith. At such times
we cannot help worrying until we have reasonable
assurance that help is near the unfortunate ship. The
Brotherhood of the Sea strikes very deep into the hearts
of all Seamen and if we could not give any direct
assistance we would broadcast the news to other ships
and anxiously await news of the arrival of assistance.

Under a kind Providence I have sailed the seas for
forty-six years. Now, in port permanently, I turn the .
pages of my log and here pass on what seems to me
of general interest.

5

CHAPTER II

adventures in sail

I NEVER had any ambition other than to go to
sea. The spirit of adventure must have lived
in some remote ancestor and come down to me ;
certaiiAy faere waB ifk

to set out on long and hazardous trails. Yet at five
or six years of age I announced my intention to be
a sailor and all that was ever said to dispel that
youthful dream — and there was a good deal of quite
natural opposition— Acver had the slightest effect,
unless it was to increase my determination.

Yet to go to sea in those days was a far dilferent
affair from what it is to-day. True enough, I didn’t
know what was in store for me, but I did know that
it meant sailing ships, and I was to find out that
sailing slfips meant hard work, sometimes bullying
by more or less ignorant officers, great risks and
poor food, every sort of discomfort that one can con-
jure to the imagination. Even as an apprentice on
my very first voyage, I knew what it was to be out
in cold, miserable nights with the rain coming down
in sheets, the wind blowing a gale, with blizzards
of snow sweeping us as the ship wallowed, pitched,
rolled and laboured in mountainous seas. Sleep,

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

rest, food, drink — all gone without through long
periods when the clipper I was in was doing her
noble best to see us through it.

These things, however, were blissfully hidden from
me when at length I persuaded my parents to let
me join the Conway, an old wooden frigate lying in
the Mersey. A memorable day was that which saw
me first don my cadet’s uniform and, with my class-
mates at the station to bid me farewell, I set off.
And at first everything was fascinating. Two years
I spent on the Conway, leaving at the end of my
training as head boy.

I had by that time become a midshipman in the
Royal Naval Reserve and got my appointment as
an apprentice with Messrs. Williamson, Milligan &
Co., of Liverpool, and in March of 1887 I joined the
full-rigged clipper ship, Cedric the Saxon. I remember
that day of joining. It was in Hull and the future
beckoned joyously when I found that in the clipper
were three other Conway boys, one having done two
voyages, the others one each. It was a bond be-
tween us, naturally, and you may be sure these
“ seasoned ” sailors appeared rather wonderful fel-
lows to me and I drank in all they said of what
they had done and seen. I just yearned with boyish
enthusiasm for the day of sailing and there was no
more excited boy alive than I when at last we got
away — bound for San Francisco.

For a month all my anticipations were realized.
This was the life ; a fine ship, beautiful to watch

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HOME FROM THE SEA

as she ploughed majestically through the waves of the
Atlantic, and all the world before me.

But when we reached Lat. 4.0° S. there commenced
a three- months’ spell of sheer horror, as full of thrills
by storm and danger as the most thirstily-adventurous
boy could desire. Day after day, night after night,
the fiercest weather held ; looking back on that
period now, it seems as if it was the very mother
and father of all storms.

Up aloft for hours on end, very often all through
the raging night ; six or eight hours on a foreyard
trying to furl the foresail, the canvas soaked with rain
and sea spray, hard as sheet-iron, until the finger-nails
were torn off, leaving raw bleeding wounds ; drenched
to the skin, oilskins blown to ribbons and sea boots
full of water. No clothing that could ever be devised
could keep out such rioting elements. For this was
winter time in the South Atlantic. If anything could
add to the misery of our labouring way, it was the faet
that twenty out of the twenty-four hours of day were
dark and, under that leaden sky, daylight seemed to
bring only a paler night-time.

How many times we boys came down from long
hours aloft longing — as one nowadays probably longs
for nothing — for just a cup of hot coffee, only to find the
galley washed out, so that we had to content ourselves
with a drink from the water-cask in our berth and a
weevily biscuit to eat.

And then no rest. The reader will, of course, have
his mind accustomed to the routine of watch on deck

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

and watch below. He will imagine that, however
heavy and risky the tasks aloft, even in those days
there would follow a space when a worn-out sailor
could get below and sleep. But on that first voyage
of the Cedric the Saxon, for those three weary months
it was not so.

Half an hour, and it seemed as if always the wind
would shift and freshen or fall away and we would be
out and aloft again, tugging with all our young might
and damaged hands at the ice-hard sails. Pulling,
hauling on the braces and halyards, seas tumbling over
us, men washed about the deck, sometimes overboard,
snow or sleet stinging the face, always the eternal
rolling and pitching and the almost constant hurri-
canes — such was our experience that year down below
the Horn. Cape Horn ! What memories it brings
to those who are old-timers and have rounded it in
sail !

“ One hand for the owner and one for yourself.”
That was an old gag, but when the wind lashes the sail
from your grasp, when the ship has to be saved in the
face of the bellowing night, no sail can be furled with one
hand while the other is devoted to your own safety.
No, it is both hands and every muscle of your body
given to the job, and glad enough if the stubborn
canvas can in the end be mastered. One wonders
whether those owners ever realized what titanic labour
and risk went to make their dividends ? I fear not.
And certainly little of the ship’s profits found their
way into our pockets !

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HOME FROM THE SEA

That trip we went far out of our course — four
hundred miles south of Gape Horn, drifted, pushed,
beaten, pulled down into the Antarelic before we
found a favourable wind. At last, when we thought
we should be blown into the very Polar ice, we got
a slant and came ploughing up the globe again,
courses, topsails and t’gallants all set. Up we rode
out of those long, long nights and murky intervals
which were day, thanking our stars that the wind held
good. For twenty- two hours we ran before it, then
it freshened to hurricane force, seas grew heavier and
more dangerous again, great rolling mountains under
our stern simply pushed us and passed on, the crests
breaking and tumbling and roaring like avalanches.
Sail was shortened and we all felt we were headed for
fairer weather.

Yet, even as all hands were below for a cup of coffee,
disaster sprang upon us.

“ Pooped ! ”

The old mate literally bellowed it as that tremen-
dous following sea rose towering over the stern
and — crash ! — came down full upon us, remorseless,
murderously mad.

Away went the wheel together with the senior
apprentice and the sailor who were steering. The
ship broached to, simply staggered broadside to the
waves, every stitch of canvas that was set breaking
with the sound of gunshots from the bolt ropes and
trailing out on the wind and the sea ! There was one
heart-fearing minute. While no one could do any-

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

thing, that mammoth comber swirled along the decks
burying her entirely, and on the fearsome tide those
two men were washed, utterly helpless. Fortunately
they were caught in the fore part of the poop and
regained their feet unhurt, but the wheel was un-
shipped and that meant that the vessel was for the
time out of control.

First the helm was lashed, then half the crew was
ordered aloft, the remainder on deck bracing the yards
round to the wind, trying to clear the braces washing
about the decks and overboard, clewing up the sails
— a nightmare, during which every man worked his
soul-casing bare to save the ship.

For many back-breaking hours every man slaved,
and it is as well in such times that there is little chance
to think. But at the back of every one’s mind, in that
secret place we call our subconsciousness, was the
knowledge that any one minute of those long hours
might have been our last. At the end we looked at
each other literally surprised to find the ship was afloat
and we were still alive. And, be it added, that day I
saw fear in the eyes of men and found it no pretty sight.

The old mate heartened us whenever he could make
himself heard above the howling storm and raging seas.

” If we’ve got to die, let’s die like men.”

His inspiring call comes across the years to my
memory now. Certainly, each man gave every ounce
that was in him and, at last, the crew were splicing
the main-brace with much licking of lips and a feeling
of thankfulness that we had come through it.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

I guess no one was more pleased than one of my
fellow-apprentices when it was over. Just before the
wheel had carried away he had fallen to the deck from
the slings (middle) of the main-yard. It was a fifty-
foot drop and he was badly hurt. He had been
carried to the saloon so that the captain — who, of
necessity, was also surgeon — might attend to him.
Then came the moment when we were pooped.
Torrents of water poured down to the saloon and
that boy was helpless, washed about the floor and
rolled in agony up against table and bulkhead, among
chairs and anything that could get adrift. There he
was forced to remain unattended since the entire crew
was waging a great fight to save the ship. Not until
the storm was over was there a chance of doctoring
his hurt.

After that we laid to for thirty hours or so while the
wheel was repaired and new sail bent ; then, with the
wind moderated, we shaped course for San Fraircisco.
By the time we reached harbour we had cleaned that
ship of all the Horn had done to her. With new
I’lgging, new sails, new paint, she put into port taut
and trim, looking a credit to officers, crew- — and
owners.

One vision has often recurred to my mind when I
think back to that eventful voyage. It was when we
were labouring somewhere in the latitude of Gape
Horn itself. We were being blown south then, carried
over immense seas in the clutch of a gale that brought
with it penetrating, heart-freezing snow squalls. As

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

we pitched like a cork and all hands aloft were
struggling to furl sail, out of the murky smother about
us we saw flares burning. We were passing another
ship in dire distress, worse, far worse, than we were.
I often wonder what happened to her ; we never knew
who she was or what her fate. It looked as though
she writhed in her death throes, there within a cable’s
length of us. And we could do nothing. I was on
the foreyard as she came out of the night and, while
I looked, she faded back into oblivion, We knew we
should indeed be lucky if we could save ourselves ;
nothing could be done to aid our fellows.

It makes one think. Sometimes when I have
glanced at that terribly long list of missing ships I
wonder whether her name is somewhere upon it.
“ Lost with all hands.” Is there any other sentence
more full of drama, more instinct with suffering and
final terror ?

On that voyage we saw land only once in one hun-
dred and sixty-five days and that was between two
snow squalls off Staten Island near the Horn ; the
next sight was of the headlands that guard the
beautiful harbour of ’Frisco. It was, of course, an
unusually bad trip, but the Horn in winter is never
a pleasure cruise, even to-day. To the men in the
old windjammers it brought many discomforts and
not least among these were the salt-water boils, horrible
things with cores the size of one’s little finger. Often
half the crew was down with them and it was im-
possible then for a man to work. They are painful

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and distressing and are caused by the chaffing of wet
and hard oilskins on the wrists and arms — there being
no chance of washing off the salt with fresh water.

After discharging our cargo — railroad rails, for in
those days England supplied most of the rails for the
rest of the world — we loaded grain for Queenstown
and eventually reached Liverpool, having been away
nearly twelve months.

My second voyage was again to ’Frisco in the Cedric
with new captain and officers. Six and a half months
it took us on that occasion to reach the Golden Gate,
for, when off the Rio Plata, we got a real snorter,
were disabled and had to put back to Rio for repairs.
Those took four weeks to effect, but that was the only
happening of importance and once again we made
Queenstown, where we got orders for Liverpool.

The third and last voyage I made as an apprentice
was to India with a full cargo of salt, and I hoped then
never to sail with the holds full of salt again. After
a few weeks the salt began to drain and wc were
constantly at the pumps !

But we made the Hooghly at length and arrived at
Calcutta where midsummer was reigning with its heat,
its mosquitoes and its fevers.

In the river between the open sea and the great city
lie the Jane and Mary shoals which sometimes lure air
honest ship to her doom. Well named they are, and,
alas, they have their human counterparts in every port

—Janes and Marys waiting like ghouls to trap the
simple sailor.

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

I often think the average Briton does not realize how
much he is dependent on the men who go down to the
sea in ships. As an essentially maritime nation we
take the work of the merchant service very much for
granted, though if it suddenly ceased to function, the
country’s heart would cease to beat. Even the average
man is inclined to look down upon the ordinary sailor.
Certainly, to these Janes and Marys he is always
considered fair game — which means a likely victim
for any sort of dirty work that will bring them profit.
Harpies and sharks are waiting in every port. With
friendly word and false smiles they meet these sailors,
who, maybe, have been long out of sight of land, who
are fresh from hardships, hunger and other miseries
that follow in the wake of the eternal fight against
nature in its most tempestuous moods. The sailor as
a class is a simple and trusting fellow and, with his pay
in his pocket and eyes dazed a bit by the almost-
forgotten glitter of port life, he easily falls prey to these
emissaries of Satan. He is lured into their parlours,
sometimes to die, always to be robbed, often to be
beaten, filled with loathsome liquor and, alas, not
infrequently with disease.

In those days the sailors’ boarding-houses were just
as bad. After all his money was taken from him, a
sailor was “ sold ” and shipped on board some out-
ward-bounder, doped or drunk, given a handful of
dunnage as a kit, only to wake to find his next two
months’ money had been paid to the dock-runner who
had also received from ;^3 to ^'5 as blood-money. In

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America— California particularly— a captain would
pay forty dollars for each shanghaied seaman.

And the skipper was lucky if he got a seaman.
Often the man thrown helpless on deck had never so
much as seen a ship before. Many were just farm
hands, shop assistants, any poor fellows, young or not,
foolish enough to listen to the blandishments of the
harpies and the sharks who spent their lives looking-
out for such simpletons. It is easy for even the un-
initiated to imagine the sort of life that followed when
the unconscious man came to his senses miles at sea,
ill from the effects of the dope or drink and made
worse by the unaccustomed motion of the ship, put
to do a scientific job he knew nothing about under
officers whose patience was soon outraged and whose
need of help drove them to wild abuse.

I remember one voyage when, in ’Frisco, a day
before sailing, several men were sent off, dead to the
world ; we were lying to an anchor in the bay. One
of these men was more or less conscious next day and
came aft to interview the captain. He had a pretty
story of how he had been kidnapped and, when half
doped, had been told that the best thing he could do
would be to amuse the captain. He could play the
banjo it appeared and, indeed, he had a banjo with
him. One was inclined to be sorry for the man,
thinking he was just another of the many who had
been robbed and duped.

But before we sailed our opinion changed. The
police boarded us and our banjoist left in their custody.

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

He had joined the kidnapped party in order to hide
from justice.

Two of that same crowd were cowboys, actually
never having seen a ship before. Poor fellows, they
had come to town for a spree and been shanghaied.

Times have changed since then, though that notion
of a sailor being fair game lingers in many a port. The
status of the sailor has risen — and nothing has raised
it more than the interest shown by the King, who was
responsible for the service now being officially known
as “ The Merchant Navy.”

To go back to Calcutta. We left for Port Pirie in
Australia and there loaded grain for Queenstown, and
of that voyage I have two unhappy memories. One
is that I met with my first accident, falling from aloft
to the deck on my back, though without any too
serious results. But the other occurrence was a more
prolonged distress !

Three weeks after leaving Australia the steward
found he had finished the biscuits and nearly all the
flour. That was pretty hard on us and the fact that
it showed almost criminal carelessness on his and the
captain’s part didn’t relieve our concern as to food,
biscuits (hard tack) being the principal diet on sailing
vessels at that time.

As I said, we were loaded with wheat and some one
unearthed an old coffee-grinder on board. The crew
took turns to put the grain through the grinder —
result, cracked wheat. With this the cook tried to
make bread, but it was a long way removed from the

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real thing. If hot, one could eat it, tasteless as straw
though it was ; but when it went cold it was as hard
as a brick. Indeed, we sailed eventually into Queens-
town with several specimens hung as a necklace around
the figure-head ! We tried turning it into a sort of
porridge and again when hot we could just stomach
it, but if cold it could not be touched. We had three
months of that, and we had to pull in our belts until
there wasn't very much of us left for the belt to go
round ! Perhaps it was a consciousness of his careless-
ness that inspired the captain, when at last we did
reach port, to hustle ashore and send off a quarter
of beef, some fresh vegetables and — strange and
welcome luxury— bread. Did we enjoy it ? I think
we did nothing at all save eat and sleep for three days.
Since we went across to St. Nazaire in France for a
couple of weeks, I had fed well before I returned home
and so I received nothing but good-humoured
laughter when I told my people how I had literally
starved for three months.

“ Look at yourself in the glass,” they told me. And
certainly I was fit enough by then. Apprentices
to-day don’t go through the mill like we did, but,
looking back on it all, I fancy it was a healthy life
and fitted us for the exposures and the trials that
were to come. But, Jove ! there were days on that
voyage home from Australia when I felt a lion gnawing
inside me and you can imagine it was good to have
a shore existence for a month while I passed for
second mate.

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

It was in that capacity I next went to sea — with the
same firm but in another ship. This was an old-timer,
a barque well known in her day, named the Red-
gauntlet. I was to get five pounds a month and thought
myself fortunate. I would have gone for three pounds,
so little did I think of money and so keen was I to get
on. I wanted my first mate’s ticket, then my master’s.
That seemed the topmost peak of success. I should
be a made man then. Ah well, innocence and youth
are good bed-fellows.

I think the outstanding fact about the first voyage
in the Redgauntlet was that it took only ten and a half
months, which, therefore, was short of the necessary
year at sea to enable me to sit for my mate’s certificate,
and so I had to sail again as second. All the other
officers were new, but the captain and mate were old
shipmates from the Cedric, so the company was
pleasant.

Having rounded the Cape of Good Hope I’m afraid
we got south too soon to run our easting down and
found ourselves among the icebergs. For three days
we were with these cold monsters that are so beautiful
to look at and so dangerous to touch, but we had a
good fair westerly breeze and were able to keep our
distanee. Before reaching Adelaide we experienced
a most wonderful electrical storm. I have never since
seen its equal. For six hours the flashes were so vivid
as to be awe-inspiring, constant and blinding. We
were not surprised to hear later that in Adelaide
they had experienced unusual heat, heat so intense,

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HOME FROM THE SEA

indeed, that it peeled the paper from the walls of
the houses.

In Newcastle, New South Wales, we took on coal for
Valparaiso and it was when we were south of New
Zealand on that run that we had the nearest shave of
going down that any one of us aboard had encountered.

It was my first watch — 8 to 12 p.m.— and during
that time the wind freshened considerably. So I gave
orders for the royals to be taken in and this had been
accomplished when at midnight the first mate came
to relieve me. I told him what I had done, explaining
the rising wind, and went below.

Only a few minutes afterwards I heard the voice of
the first mate yelling out the order :

“ Loose the royals ! ”

Well, it was not my responsibility, but I was not
greatly pleased to think that they had been set again.
That wind was threatening, to my view. I turned in
rather disturbed.

Half an hour later it came — a real southerly buster.
Over she went to a sickening angle and out on deck
it seemed as though a company of heavy artillery had
started a barrage. All hands were roused, but before
they could reach deck she had been swept clean. The
Redgauntlet had been caught almost aback and every
sail was carried away in that first terrible burst of
wind. Great seas rose and, as the ship heeled until
her rail was under, the cargo shifted. We were as near
on our beam ends as was safe with the lee lower yard-
arms dipping in the water.

20

ADVENTURES IN SAIL

The night was pitch-black ; you couldn’t see a thing
a yard away ; the seas were constantly sweeping over
us while up aloft we clambered trying to furl the
tattered sails. They ripped out of the bolt ropes and
waved with the sound of a thousand whips cracking.
The wind howled and shrieked like a million demons,
angry that that first onslaught had not sent the ship
to the bottom. The vessel groaned and moaned in
every plank and, added to the cacophony, was the
whistling rigging. Every man was surprised to find
the old barque right herself time after time and not
a man but wondered how long she could withstand
the fury of the gale.

And when at long last we had snugged her down
as best we could, I remember coming down and find-
ing, owing to the list caused by the shifted cargo, the
lee-rail washed away and the lee-side of the deck under
water up to the hatches.

Then for three days we. had the heart-breaking job
of trimming that cargo of coal over to windward in
order to right the ship. Our watch on deck was
occupied in repairing and bending new sails and
clearing away wreckage ; half our watch below we
were trimming coal in the ’tween decks. Mighty
thankful for small mercies in such desperate con-
ditions, we rejoiced, even as we laboured, that the
weather moderated so that, when the cargo was at
length trimmed, we were able to make good progress
under fair conditions.

From Valparaiso— -how different a place it is to-day

21

HOME FROM THE SEA

from then, when that open drain ran down the centre
of the main square !— we made a short leg up the
Pacific coast to Guayacan and here, before we got
through the bottle-neck into the small bay, we had
another “ touch and go.”

We arrived about six miles off, in early morning,
and then the wind fell away to a dead calm: But
though no breeze stirred the sea there was quite a
heavy swell. About three miles off, some pinnacle
rocks reared their heads fifty or sixty feet out of the
water. The swell and the current set us towards those
rocks and the danger of striking them grew so im-
minent that we put out our boats in the endeavour
to tow the ship clear. It was hopeless. The boats
were hoisted in again and there was nothing to do
save watch those rocks gradually approaching. All
morning the space between lessened until about one
o’clock we were only a few feet from them, rising and
falling so near their jagged edges that we could have
touched them with a pole.

A pilot had come on board, but neither he nor
anyone could do a thing to assure our safety. Only a
breeze could save us. And it came, just a hint of a
breeze ! Madly we sheeted the mainsail and foresail
flat and, trimming the yards, we crawled away with
sighs of relief, standing in for the rocky coast. Even
then it was a ticklish business making the bay, piloted
through a mere crack in the cliffs, deep enough for the
ship, but so narrow that the yard-arms almost touched
the cliffs on either side as we crept into a pond of a

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ADVENTURES IN SAIL

harbour. We lay there snug enough for a time and
hoped that the Pacific would show a more friendly
face when next we set out for another port. Those
hopes were realized, for when, once again, after many
days we steered through that crack in the cliffs and
faced the ocean, she greeted us in gay mood and bowled
us along by fair winds as far as Portland, Oregon, our
next place of call.

As long ago as then the salmon-canning industry
was in full swing and we saw thousands and thousands
offish landed as we were lowed by a stern-wheeler up
the river ; and, by the way, it was here that I had my
second accident, falling down the hold again on to my
back. Still no permanent results, thanks be.

So as Pepys didn’t quite say, home to — Plymouth.
Yet, once more on that rather eventful voyage, not
without a further close shave. We were within sight
of home when it happened and had passed the Bishops
— Scilly Isles — when a nasty south-east gale sprang
up. It increased as we passed the Lizard and a pitch-
black night descended upon us. Under the pressure
of the gale wallowing in heavy seas, we missed the
Eddystone by what seemed like inches, and was indeed
but a few fathoms. Our final scrape. Daylight saw
us bearing well away and making for Plymouth where
we picked up our tow and got safely to berth.

So ended my first voyage round the world. It had
taken eighteen months and we had had at least three
narrow escapes. Once or twice we wondered whether
we had a Jonah on board or whether there really was

23

HOME FROM THE SEA

something in the fact that we had set sail on a Friday.
But if Jonah there was, we felt as we moored there
was also a Providence shaping our ends, and none
was ashamed to show thankfulness that his feet were
once more on native soil.

I was at home now for two months, during which
time I passed for first mate and in that capacity I
joined the barque Camphill, then lying in Antwerp.

We had a very cosmopolitan crew. I didn’t like the
look of them and on the voyage my fears were realized.
After passing the River Plate in the South Atlantic
we saw little of the captain ; he became very fond of
his cabin — and its contents ! The weather grew worse
and so did the captain’s complaint, leaving myself and
the second mate, a youngster of twenty-one, on our
own to carry on. It was then the crew showed a
bad spirit. I was only twenty-four then, and I suppose
some of the hard cases among the crew didn’t like
being under two such young officers. Anyhow, they
swore, seriously enough, to knife me before we reached
Valparaiso, which was our destination. I quite
understood that this was no jest, and in consequence
for weeks I carried a revolver, even sleeping with it
under my pillow. Never did I approach a man, or
let him approach me, unless I was armed. I suppose
they became aware of my preparedness ; at all events
we reached Valparaiso without anyone being knifed
or shot.

But there had been other anxieties that voyage.
While we had been loading cargo at Antwerp we were

34

ADVENTURES IN SAIL

informed that three ships carrying similar cargo and
bound for Valparaiso had been lost during the previous
twelve months. That dangerous cargo consisted of
forty tons of dynamite and forty tons of powder stored
at opposite corners in the ’tween decks. Previous dis-
asters did not bring any sense of comfort, and you can
be sure I kept a wary eye on that cargo. All went
well — fourth time evidently was lucky — and we
unloaded the stuff safely.

The crew was paid off and glad I was to see the
back of them, but we signed on a new lot which looked
just as bad. The beachcombers in those days on the
West Coast were a pretty sad lot of human flotsam.
We went up to Pisagua, in Chile, to load nitrate, and
a nice job it was, as we had to lie to an anchor in the
bay while the nitrate was conveyed alongside in
lighters towed by our ship’s boats. By the way, it was
surprisingly all stowed by one old man. He didn’t
look as if he could lift twenty pounds, and yet he
handled every single bag and each weighed a hundred.

There was a custom on the coast in those days which
brings back to mind that day of sailing in the Camphill.
The habit was for the captains of all ships lying in
harbour to be invited on board on sailing day, and a
really convivial party took place. While the captain
of the departing ship was entertaining his guests, one
of the visiting captains would take the vessel a few
miles out to sea, where farewells would be exchanged
and the guests pull back to their own ships.

The usual party took place on the Camphill and while

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HOME FROM THE SEA

our old skipper was enjoying the compliments of his
guests one of the latter came to take us out to sea.

He made a poor job of it. Perhaps in addition to
light winds that day there was in charge of us a light
head. I don’t know, but, when we had catted the
anchor, that skipper seemed bent on piling us up.
Maybe he thought the shore was a mirage, or he could
not distinguish between land and sea, but surely we
were driving straight for disaster. Seeing what was
happening and not relishing the entertainment, I let
go the anchor and gave orders to clew up all sail.
Only just in time.

Was our guest pleased that I had saved the ship ?
He was not. Indeed, he grew very indignant at what
he called my unwarrantable interference and stamped
below to persuade our own captain to have me hauled
up before the lot of them. Below I went and was
faced with an impromptu court of inquiry. You may
be sure I was a bit annoyed at the whole proceeding
— to be blamed for saving the ship from going aground
— and I spoke my mind pretty straight. I threatened
officially to log the whole performance with the names
of all captains present and their ships. They blustered
a bit, but several of them, a little more clear-headed
possibly than the majority — my own captain among
them — thought it better to let the “ inquiry ” drop
there and then. The turmoil ceased and the captains
departed and so, after twenty-four hours’ delay and
without any further “ assistance,” we managed to
hedge our ship into deep water and, setting sail, left ;

26

ADVENTURES IN SAIL

our imperious guests still shaking fists at me as we
passed, and bellowing threats of what they would do
to me when they arrived in England. Poor beggars.
Of course nothing more was heard of it.

It was summer-time off the Horn that voyage and
with decent weather we made a fair passage home.
Truly the Camphill was no clipper but, with a gale
on her quarter, she could do her thirteen knots, though
it made the poor thing gasp and puff a lot ; she
seemed thoroughly surprised at her own accomplish-
ment. Our skipper’s “ internal troubles ” greatly
improved as we neared home and when his wife
came down to meet him as we berthed in Liverpool
he was himself again.

I had my last stand-up fight with a sailor that
voyage. We were lying in Queenstown Harbour, and
this particular member of the crew was not doing his
work properly. I had to speak to him about it and
he grew impertinent. I called him on deck and asked
him what he meant speaking to me as he had done
and, instead of showing any signs of regret, he only
became more abusive. There was nothing for it. An
officer dare not let a man take the upper hand or all
discipline is gone. So I prepared to knock some
respect into the fellow. He was a hefty man and I
was lithe enough, but he got in one blow first. It
sent me spinning thirty feet along the deck but,
fortunately, I kept my feet and was instantly back
at him. That was his one and only blow. I never
gave him another chance. Nowhere near his size, I

27

HOME FROM THE SEA

was under his lashing arms and all round him, and
in the end he had had enough, returning to his work
in better mood. A fight like that seldom left bad
blood, so long as it was a clean scrap. It was better
than logging a man ; more effective, too, since he would
only desert at the first opportunity and all the time
until then you had to keep your weather eye open
as you were dealing with a man who, with a threat
over him, felt he was suffering from a grievance.

28

CHAPTER III

INTO STEAM

I T is, perhaps, a trite thing to say, but on what
little turns our fortunes often hang ! When the
Camphill docked I was a mere six weeks short of the
necessary time afloat for me to pass as master. Other-
wise I should have taken command of that vessel,
and I wonder now how different my career would
have been ! The owners wanted me to take over and
did everything they could to fill in the time, but we
couldn’t manage it and so perforce I left her in
order to get my time in. You will understand that
I was not anxious to go another long voyage just to
get in the necessary six weeks — I was too keen to
get my master’s ticket. So I joined a small Glas-
gow steamer of a thousand tons called the Jiiver Avon.
My first experience in steam.

What a change ! No sails to watch, no worry
when the wind shifted, regular meals, regular watches.
But she was a bug-infested old tub, and I was not
sorry when, after knocking about the Spanish coast
and through the Straits to the Mediterranean, we came
home and I was paid off in Ipswich.

I passed as extra master and that year spent
Christmas with my people at home.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

Well, here I was, qualified to take command, and
I remembered my youthful ambitions and how I
had imagined at such a moment in my life I should
be a “ made ” man. Instead, I was in Liverpool
without a ship. Even up to six months previous I
had sworn I would never go into steam. Steam
was no sort of job for a real sailor ! It was for the
worn-out, the decrepit, the soft-hearted. Yet here
was I wondering whether I couldn’t wangle command
of a tramp ! Those youthful ambitions of mine had
always visualized a windjammer ; that was the life
for a man who wanted to follow the sea. And with
all the hardships that had come my way I loved the
life.

I wonder whether shore people ever pause to
imagine what it is to be months at a time with thirty-
odd men, including captain and officers, in the narrow
confines of a comparatively small vessel surrounded
by the ocean in all its moods. Long days of glassy
calm and warm water in the tropics with a blazing
red-hot furnace of a sun beating down. Other
times with the ocean heaved up into mountains of
water — cold at that — tumbling and roaring, each sea
seemingly bent on overwhelming the ship.

In mild trade-wind weather the sails are set and
the yards trimmed for days at a time with only the
“ dog watch ” setting taut as necessary. The ship
bowls along steadily and, if homeward bound, every
man aboard is counting the days until the lights of
home loom up over the weather bow.

30

INTO STEAM

Or we are in the Doldrums with a baffling wind,
the ship rolling about in an aimless manner, sails
flapping against the mast one minute, bellying out
to a tantalizing gust of wind the next, calling for
constant trimming of the yards.

Or again the ship is wallowing through tempestuous
weather off the Horn. The men are never dry,
knocking about to the waist in icy water that comes
tumbling on board, carried off their feet and washed
about the decks. Perhaps there is snow, maybe fog.
There are sure to be hours up aloft when one is so
cold as to be almost lifeless, the only feeling that a
fall into one of those dark caverns between the
breaking crests of sea would be a welcome harbour of
refuge from the misery that has to be endured for
days, weeks and sometimes months on end. No
steam heat, no fireside, no gas or electric lamps, only
an old swinging oil lamp in one’s cabin usually smelly
and smoky ; and yet the cabin is a little heaven
out of the whipping storm even if the icicles hang
from the roof and ■ the temperature ten or fifteen
below freezing-point.

A hard life, yet when we lay in ’Frisco sometimes
I would not stray fifty yards from the ship, though
Market Street was right opposite ; I was perfectly
happy and content where I was — on board with my
job. For one thing, beer was not to my taste, and
as for the other “ attractions ” of life in port, they had
no lure for me.

Yet I was thinking of steam that day in Liverpool.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

But I was not to get command so soon. All the same
it proved an occasion of great importance for me
since it was then that I received orders to report to the
General Superintendent of the Cunard Line. That
was, in fact, the first rung of the ladder which led at
length to the bridge of the Berengaria with the Com-
modore’s flag flying from her mast-head.

My first Cunarder was the Umbria, and she was to
sail on a certain Saturday. I had to join by tender,
leaving the landing-stage at 7.30 a.m. I remember
I couldn’t find that tender — she was stowed away
in some cosy corner. So I hired a waterman’s boat
to pull me out to where the liner lay at her buoy
in the Sloyne — Mersey. A junior officer joining up
in that fashion was quite novel to the Chief Officer,
and he was aghast and wondered what the service
was coming to when a clean-shaven youngster of my
age had the impudence to resort to such unusual
and un-Cunardlike methods. It took a few minutes
and a disarming smile or two to smooth the old
gentleman’s ruffled feelings, but these succeeded.
And from that moment I was able to call myself a
Cunarder.

That first trip in a liner was a winter crossing of
the Atlantic and brought me a new experience. We
bore into the heavy seas and I was staggered at the
speed that was maintained in spite of the damage
the weather was causing to the ship. But in those
days speed was the be-all and ’end-all of the crack
ships. Competition was won with speed and I

32

INTO STEAM

have known cases when damage amounting to a
five-figure total has been occasioned in a few minutes
because speed would not be reduced. It was the
chase for greater and greater speed that occasioned
bigger and bigger ships to be built. Comfort even
was made a secondary consideration. Steamers
were driven for all they were worth. Sailing
ships, too. Tales were told of wonderful voyages ;
yes, and tales there were when ships chasing that
bogy of high speed were lost or dismasted. They
were seamen and sailors who made those runs ; to
carry them through meant marvels of seaman-
ship and navigation. But after a time it was
naturally found that the account for damages rose
to such giddy proportions as not to warrant the
outlay.

Speed is still necessary to-day ; speed is still
advertised, and quite rightly. But the Cunard policy
is summed up in this slogan — Safety, Comfort, Speed,
This does not quite mean that speed is only a third
consideration, but that it must never overrule safety
and that it must not interfere with the comfort of
passengers. Go for all you are worth when you can ;
go just as fast as you safely can when you are up
against it — that is to-day’s creed. But when I first
crossed the Atlantic in a liner ships would run up
bills of thousands for damages in order to save a few
hours.

Five times I crossed in the Umbria and then learned
that I was not eligible for promotion, so I left and

33 D

HOME FROM THE SEA

once more went back into sail, actually rejoining the
old Cedric, this time as first mate.

Antwerp to ’Frisco in 130 odd days~a good pas-
sage with a decent slant round our old friend the
Horn, it being the end of winter. Not that a decent
slant means we did not have the usual misery, cold,
wet, up aloft for hours beating about in heavy seas
and stiff gales. All that was on the programme, but
there was a certain ease to my job since, remember,
I was now first mate with a cabin to myself and
messed in the saloon. Those things make a differ-
ence between times of stress and messy work — in
which, let me say, I was always up to the neck, for
I loved the old ship and my work ; wanted to be a
hundred per cent, sailorman and, when leadership
and encouragement were required, I never thought
of being anywhere save with my men.

I remember the days we made the Horn coming
home that voyage. A glorious summer morning.
It had been light all night ; I actually tried to
read a newspaper at midnight just to make sure that
the old tag had some truth in it. I found I could
read it quite well. We had a fresh gale on our
port quarter as dawn showed us the Horn twenty
miles away and with all sail set we came bowling
along grandly, fifteen to sixteen knots. Beating
round to westward was a ship under goose-winged
lower topsails, reefed foresail with fore topmast stay-
sail set. We passed him a couple of miles to leeward
of us and he must have thought us the Flying Dutch-

34

INTO STEAM

man, the ghost ship which was supposed to terrify
poor sailors in those latitudes. At any rate, he must
have envied us.

We made a fair passage home and were towed at
length into East India Dock, which afforded me my
first view of old Father Thames and the port of
London. There we were paid off and I went back
to the Cunard.

And if the Fates who guide our ways had decided
that I must remain with the Cedric, this story would
not have been written. She was lost. Lost with all
hands. The news came with a shock, for she was a
gallant ship and had been my home for over four
years. And my skipper perished with her — he had
been the only one to remain with her when, after
our return from ’Frisco, she had been sold to new
owners.

He took her to New York from London River and
then sailed with cases of petroleum for Batavia, She
was never seen again. News came later that she had
been burnt at sea. Fire, with a cargo of petroleum
in cases ; imagine it ! What an end to so fine a
ship !

She was a beautiful model, taut and trim as a yacht.
Truly a clipper ship, I’ve known her reel off eighteen
knots in a squall with every stitch set. Dare not
start a halyard — she just heeled over to it and clipped
off the knots. She made one wonderful passage out
to Calcutta and another from Calcutta to Australia.
These were before I joined her, but I was on board

35

HOME FROM THE SEA

when she ran 3125 miles (nautical) in 22 hours with
a hard gale blowing under our stern and heavy seas
running.

Few men to-day know what it is to be on board a
sailing ship making such runs. They come back to
my mind — outstanding hours of thrill and that sort
of joy that goes with high accomplishment.

Here’s the old Cedric with a gale urging her through
the mountains of sea. The wind shrieks in the rig-
ging, there is a low booming noise as the sails hold
the wind. The spars are groaning and moaning
— or should I call it singing ? — the boiling, foaming
water swishes past, occasionally flinging a hissing
crest over the rail. Is there anywhere a more inspir-
ing sight?

There’s not much comfort on board and every one
— especially captain and officers — are keyed up to the
highest pitch, watching every sail, every rope, on
constant look out for change of wind or any sign
indicating a weak spot in mast, yard, sail or rope.
The helmsman, taut of nerve, knows that one moment’s
lapse, the wrong turn of a spoke or two of the wheel,
might easily bring every mast and yard tumbling
to the deck and make a complete wreck of the ship.
It’s a man’s job, with eyes and ears alert, listening
to some unusual sound that may portend trouble,
ready on the instant to give such orders as shall
circumvent accident.

A man’s job !

See her again when the call goes out :

36

INTO STEAM

“ Lee fore brace.”

Every sailor knows what that means, but never a
shore person can imagine it.

Say we are rounding the Horn in winter. The fore-
braces lead forward to a hard weather pin rail or else
to the top of the deck-house. This is so that one
or two men can be on the tail end to take a turn of
the brace over a stout belaying pin, the remainder on
deck pulling on the braces. The men at the tail end
take in the slack over the pin and hold on for all they
are worth. They know full well that a slack or missed
turn over that pin might throw the men hauling on
deck from their feet — perhaps to be washed over-
board. Remember, it may be a pitch-black night
with the ship labouring, decks deep with water
washing from side to side and, as she pitches, seas
pour over the lee-rail burying the men who are
hanging on to the rope for their lives. One false
move and the whole of the rhythm of the work is
broken ; men would stumble, caught very likely by
a cataract and hurled wherever that torrent of water
takes them.

“ Lee fore brace ! ” Gad, imagination runs riot
at the words, but a good sailor is proud that he has
been through it and done it. No toffee fingers about
the sailor’s job. He hangs on with fingers, nails,
almost, one might say, with a spare eyelash, and then
escapes but by the skin of his teeth.

And speaking of hanging on reminds me of occasions
when a little argument up aloft has led to blows.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

That takes me back to the days of apprenticeship.
Perhaps a boy had a few words with a man while on
deck, walking round the capstan or clewing up a
sail, only to find that the occasion has rankled in the
manly breast so that he has taken advantage of one’s
precarious hold up aloft to get revenge, and there
would be blows while one had to hold on to a becket
on the yard or else the jack-stay with one hand, using
the other for pugilistic purposes. One is standing on
a foot rope at such times with the deck seventy feet
below and, if the ship is labouring, a fall would find
you overboard, most likely on a black night at that.
And in those days a knife would sometimes flash quickly
and strike, if the sailor hailed from certain countries
where they make a habit of using knives.

These encounters can only be indulged during a
pause when you have furled your bit of sail and wait
for the men inside you to lay in. When they lay
down from above, the scrappers needs must leave
their scrapping unfinished, but you must keep a wary
eye open, for you could never put it past some of the
fellows to trip you up.

With that picture of the Cedric bowling along
through the waves under the urge of the gale, I can
leave my adventures in sail. From then onwards it
was steam for me, and though once I had been
inclined to look askance at the modern liner as not a
sailor’s job, I had to confess that there was something
to be said, after the wild days and wilder nights
in a windjammer, for a comfortable cabin, a warm

38

INTO STEAM

bunk. Steam heat, and electric light, not to mention
good food and as much of it as you wanted. No
longer were we at the mercy of wind and waves ;
the elements might be unkind and give us a shake-
up, but the steamers were able to laugh at every-
thing. There were to be times when we arrived
in New York coated in ice and with six inches of ice
covering the whole harbour, but the Gunarders could
stand up to that and cut their way through like a knife
cutting bread.

But before entering on the long unbroken career
as a Gunarder I had to get leave to do my naval
courses. Immediately I left the Cedric I joined the
old Aurania as third officer, did a couple of voyages
across the Atlantic, was promoted to extra second and
after one trip in that capacity, went to Portsmouth
and joined what is known as H.M.S. Excellent^ but
which is really large and comfortable naval barracks
on Whale Island — “ Whaley ” for short.

No need to go into the details of the seventeen
months of that training. It took me out to the
Ghina station and, to be sure, had its interests,
humorous as well as serious. I laugh now at one
episode that recurs to my mind. It was aboard the
Iphigenia and the men possessed a pet in the unwieldy
shape of a bear. One lunch-time a Japanese bum-
boat came alongside the crew gangway in the waist.
A Japanese, with very brown bare legs and feet,
was just coming aboard when the bear spotted him
and apparently liked the look of him, thinking

39

HOME FROM THE SEA

evidently he was a new toy to play with. He gam-
bolled after him and the Jap took to flight. The
men were soon watching an interesting race — the Jap
ahead, the bear close on his padding heels. All
over the deck they went and eventually the man
jumped for his boat. So did the bear. The pet
seemed to think, from the laughter of the crew, that
he was highly popular and, going into the boat,
began to paw everything. An omelet attracted his
attention and he picked it up, but immediately
dropped it like the proverbial hot brick. In revenge
for hurt paws, he up-ended the charcoal fire in the
boat and ambled back to his quarters amid the
delighted cheers of the crew — not to mention the
smiles of the officers.

At last I was ordered to join the Pique for passage
home, but while we were at dinner one evening in
Hong Kong a message came through from the
Gommander-in-Ghief for us to proceed with all speed
to Iloilo to protect British lives and interests. A
blank stare of astonishment went round the mess.
Where on earth was Iloilo ? No one had ever heard
of it, and we had to study the charts. Next day we
were steaming for the southern shores of the Philip-
pines. The American-Spanish war was on. It was
all quiet at Iloilo and we were ordered to Manila.
That sounded interesting ; perhaps we should see
something. Having obtained permission to enter the
harbour — the American fleet under Admiral Dewey
was cruising about outside — we found the entire

40

INTO STEAM

Spanish fleet had been sunk inside only a few days
previously. There were a good many tales as to how
it had happened, but you know the Spanish have a
useful word — mafiana. It means “ to-morrow,” and
the Spaniards had a way of putting everything off
until that elusive day.

We put back to Hong Kong carrying long-delayed
mails, and sailed for home, leaving a much augmented
fleet in Gulf of Pechili, as England had been expect-
ing trouble with Russia. Every ship was cleared for
action and we were all on the gut vive, watching
Port Arthur, Wei-hai-Wei being taken over a week
or so after I left. But on the way to Suez we did get
another glimpse of the Philippine war, passing the last
efforts of old Spain to send out a fleet to meet Admiral
Dewey. Just as well those fleets never met ; it
would have been another Manila, only perhaps not
so conveniently situated for the Spaniards — ^in har-
bour. Think of it — the U.S.A. with millions of
splendid young men and untold wealth and power,
and poor old Spain . . . ! It would have been
suicide if they had sought a fight.

At home again I donned my Cunard uniform for
the third time, going as extra second on the Aurania,
and on the very first return voyage we lost our one
and only propeller !

We were a hundred miles west of the Fastnet, but
fortunately it was pleasant August weather, with a
comfortable sea and a light breeze. Of course, at
that time there was no wireless, and all we could do

41

HOME FROM THE SEA

was to await the arrival of some ship. After two
days a small tramp hove in sight, and we were igno-
miniously towed into Queenstown by a vessel one-
fifth our size. We had been unable to communicate
our condition to shore until we could signal Cape
Clear, and had to lie in Queenstown for two days to
await the arrival of good Liverpool tugs to take us
home.

And that reminds me of a really epic tow, which
was by no means so simple a matter. Once the
Mauretania herself was towed across the Channel from
Southampton to Cherbourg.

She had been laid up in Southampton for engine
repairs. The covers of the turbines had been lifted
in order to do a lot of reblading and then the work-
men struck ! For a considerable time not a stroke
was done and the Company were getting anxious as
the summer season was approaching. There appeared,
however, no way of setding the dispute and, with the
covers lifted and the ship helpless, it looked as though
the workmen had the whip-hand.

To their consternation one day five foreign tugs
appeared in Southampton Water, and the news went
round that they had come to tow the vessel across
to Cherbourg, where the repairs were to be carried
out. But the consternation changed to broad smiles
of amusement. What ! Those tugs take the Maure-
tania across ? No fear ; it was only a bluff put up
to force them to come to terms.

That was on Thursday afternoon. On Friday the

42

INTO STEAM

harbour tugs came alongside the Mauretania at her
berth and made fast — and a crowd of men came
down to look on and scoff. We were carrying on the
bluff, were we ?

But they stayed to see the liner cast off, saw her
towed down Southampton Water and there the five
Dutch tugs made fast and continued the tow. That
made the men think ; within twenty-four hours they
had sent in overtures. But it was too late ; we were
on our way to Cherbourg.

On Friday evening late we passed the Nab and so
were in the Channel. A fine night and a steady
glass. By morning we were in sight of the French
coast, but the wind was backing to the south-west
and gradually freshening. By noon it was blowing a
moderate gale, a strong flood-tide was making and
the sea was getting up. We were light, many parts
of the machinery were lying about the engine-room,
secured, of course, by lashings, but the main danger
was that the turbine covers were lifted. These, too,
were lashed and tommed up, but I knew very well
there would inevitably follow serious trouble if the
ship listed one way or the other. Only on a perfectly
even keel could we make harbour without great
damage. Those covers weighed fifteen tons each.

The wind increased and the sea got rough and I
wirelessed to the tugs not to tow but to try just to
keep the ship head to wind and sea. I also under-
stood the strain and anxiety of the Chief Engineer,
Mr. Cockburn, who is still in the ship, and his assistants.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

Though we managed to keep the ship upright, by
two o’clock we were simply going astern with a five-
knot tide against us. Nothing could be done and
we were only two miles off the rocks near Cape
Barfleur ! I had been watching the bearings pretty
closely and though many on board were gravely
concerned, I felt fairly confident that we could safely
wait for the turn of the tide. That would enable us to
get away from the coast.

While in this predicament we saw the Berengaria
nearing Cherbourg and I thought what a noble ship
she was. At the turn of the tide we edged away from
the land, the wind dropped, the sea went down and
everything became comfortable.

I had arranged to send wireless messages every six
hours to headquarters in Liverpool and Southampton
and also to Cherbourg. I had dispatched one about
3 p.m. on Saturday afternoon to our Marine Super-
intendent in Cherbourg and I had mentioned going
astern about two to three knots. This had been an
extra communication, in reply to one from him. At
six I sent my usual six-hour message along to the
wireless room to say all was O.K. But that mess-
age did not go then. The Senior Wireless Officer
informed me that he could not dispatch it as a ship
was on the rocks close to the Casquets (Channel
Islands) and was sending out S.O.S.

Now it is a rule that all ship stations shall “ keep
quiet” within a certain radius when a vessel sends
out an S.O.S., a very wise provision so that all ears,

44

INTO STEAM

as it were, shall be open to listen to the distressed
ship. It meant that my message was- not dispatched
until 6.30 a.m. Sunday.

And all that time, while we on board were perfectly
happy, consternation had been reigning on shore
about us. The report got about that it was the
Mauretania that was wrecked on the Casquets and
sending out S.O.S. ! You can imagine the alarm
that exercised our officials at headquarters. The
offices were besieged by half-distracted relatives of
men on board, and when the Berengaria reported
that she had seen us not far from the coast it seemed
to substantiate the worst fears. Not until my mes-
sage was received was the tense anxiety allayed.

45

CHAPTER IV

COMIVIAND

S HOULD a sailor marry? I have heard the
question discussed a hundred times and there
is something in the argument that it is not fair on
the lady, since a man who follows the sea is away
so much. But marriage has nothing really to do with
conditions. If it is a right marriage it will help a man
— and a woman — whatever their circumstances ; if,
unfortunately, it is a wrong marriage it will prove a
mistake whether the parties are millionaires or
peasants, whether they spend much time together or
very little.

I married when I was second officer of the Etruria,
and that was in i8gg, and though my work necessarily
occasioned lengthy periods when I could not get home
. . . well, that, perhaps, only made the homecomings
the more delightful. And as I write now it makes
me think what would this final homecoming be
like without the blessings of a happy home life to
share.

We had just entered the South African War when
I received my promotion, and it was as first officer
of the Aurania that I saw my first experience in troop-
ing. Very different from what was to follow some

46

COMMAND

fourteen years later, when the Great War broke out.
Conveying troops to South Africa was not attended
with any of the risks and thrills that we met at sea
during 1914-18. There were no enemy cruisers
threatening us, no submarines. We did not have to
be convoyed by the Navy ; indeed, it was little more
than an agreeable change from ordinary passenger
life, for the men we took out were in high mood, good
fellows, cheery and suffering from only one fear
apparently — that they would not get to “ the show ”
before it was all over. And their only grievance was
what they called “ spit and polish.” They said they
were going out to fight, not to pipe-clay their belts.
Well, I’m afraid many of them saw all the fighting
they wanted.

A troopship in those days was little more than an
onlooker at war. We took out the fit to fight — and
brought back the invalids.

After that I joined the Pannonia as Chief Officer,
running from New York to the Mediterranean, and
that gave me an insight into the pleasure of joining
a new ship. We took her over in Glasgow and were
pretty busy on the run to Trieste preparing for our
first passengers, whom we took on there. A bright
lot they were ! They came from all the countries
round the Mediterranean — Italians, Croats, Hun-
garians, Austrians, Greeks, Bulgarians, Rumanians ;
all emigrants. The men and the women were berthed
separately in opposite ends of the ship, but were, of
course, allowed to mix on deck during the daytime

47

HOME FROM THE SEA

until 9.30 and often later when, on warm pleasant
nights, the captain gave special permission.

But they wanted watching. Hot tempers sometimes
flared out and words would lead to the flash of a knife
and an oozing wound. We had to treat these
offenders with a certain amount of severity. That
usually consisted of making them spend a night down
the forepeak where, with rats for company and to the
accompaniment of the pounding seas against the hull,
added to the fact that it was pitch-dark, they soon
saw the reasonableness of better behaviour. Only a
small minority got wild, the majority being quiet to
the point of almost pathetic docility.

They had for the most part never been aboard a
ship before, and were childishly afraid of any unusual
happening. On one occasion, in filling the forward
deep tank with sea water, the carpenter was not quite
quick enough in having the pump stopped. The hatches
leading to the tank and the tank man-hole being off,
the water commenced to pour out and run about.
It sent these poor ignorant souls into a state of absolute
panic. The ship was sinking ! We soon had over
two thousand of them crowding into the boats and
clambering wildly up the rigging. The sight was not
nice — human souls naked in alarm — but after a bit
of horse-play and a good deal of laughter and chaffing
we managed to get them in control again. They
quietened like a flock of sheep. But that carpenter
did not get off scot-free !

Followed a spell in the Etruria again and then I

48

COMMAND

was transferred to the Campania. It was while in her
we were coming one Friday evening into Queenstown
when, oif Galley Head, I noticed something sticking
up out of the water.

“ Keep clear of the snag right ahead,” I called out
to the junior officer who was with me on the bridge.

We swung away a point but gradually drew nearer
so that we were able to make out what the unusual
thing was. It was a sea monster ! It was no more
than fifty feet from the ship’s side when we passed it,
and so both I and the junior officer had a good sight
of it. So strange an animal it was that I remember
crying out : “ It’s alive ! ” One has heard such
yarns about these monsters and cocked a speculative
eye at the teller, that I wished as never before that
I had a camera in my hands. Failing that, I did the
next best thing and on the white “ dodger board ” in
front of me I made sketches of the animal, full face
and profile, for the thing was turning its head from
side to side for all the world as a bird will on a lawn
between its pecks.

I was unable to get a clear view of the monster’s
“ features,” but we were close enough to realize that
its head rose eight or nine feet out of the water, while
the trunk of the neck was fully twelve inches thick.

The captain had just gone below for dinner. The
last order he gave to me before descending was to keep
a good look out for Galley Head and the first question
he asked me when he came on to the bridge again
was : “ Have you seen anything, Rostron ? ”

49 B

HOME FROM THE SEA

“ Yes, sir,” I answered. “ A sea serpent,”

It was then I was subjected to that speculative
glance I spoke of.

“ What did you drink for dinner ? ” he asked me.

“ Not had my dinner yet, sir,” I replied airily.

“ Then what did you take in your cabin after I left
the bridge ? ”

“ Haven’t left the bridge since you saw me, sir.”

His brows went up in surprise ; I couldn’t help
smiling and so I showed him the sketches of the thing
I had made. His doubt as to my reliability faded
and he evinced great interest, but I am not sure he
was altogether convinced that I had not been suffering
from some hallucination despite the corroboration of
the junior officer.

There was a sequel, however.

We docked at Liverpool in due course and rejoined
the following Friday, That night I was in my cabin
when a knock sounded on the door.

“ Gome in,” I invited and in walked the Captain.

“ Did you see it, Rostron ? ” he asked simply.

“ Yes, sir,” I answered, and that was all the
conversation. But I knew to what he referred.

The previous Monday evening when at home I was
looking at the evening paper and was interested to
read of an experience a man had gone through in the
Bristol Channel. He had been picked up in a boat
in a very exhausted condition, drifting out of control,
as he had lost oars and boat-hook. He told a story
how that on the Saturday previous he had gone out

50

COMMAND

fishing, and in the evening had been attacked by a
huge sea monster and had fought it off with his
boat-hook and oars, losing them all. His description
of the animal compared accurately with the one I had
seen, and as I saw it heading from the south of Ireland
towards the direction of the Bristol Channel there was
left little doubt in my mind that it was the same —
and no longer any doubt in the Captain’s that my
monster had been real enough.

The Campania was a fast ship, which meant that we
took quite heavy water over in a sea-way ; to be half-
drowned in spray was a usual occurrence. One winter
voyage, when crossing the Banks and steaming through
the Labrador Current, it was intensely cold. It was
blowing fairly fresh, with wind and sea practically
ahead. A lot of spray came over the bows and early
in the morning the daylight showed us the ship covered
with ice. As the sun came out a fascinating picture
was presented — the ship looked like a mammoth
Christmas card. But I didn’t appreciate the extra
weight of ice on the top-sides. I got all hands
chopping at it and throwing it overboard. There
were hundreds of tons of it and that was a serious
threat to our safety. At nine o’clock that morning
the temperature was 25 degrees ; before noon, having
left the Current and arrived in the Gulf Stream, it had
risen to 60. Every particle of ice had vanished.

But the Gulf Stream was soon passed. The follow-
ing day we were again covered in ice, and we arrived
in New York in a blizzard, to find the harbour fuU

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HOME FROM THE SEA

of ice. When the ice is drifting down the Hudson it
is difficult for a ship to berth. Sometimes it entails
hours of hard labour with half a dozen tugs breaking
the ice and shouldering great lumps of it out of the
dock. I’ve seen the Hudson frozen solid from side
to side and, Jove ! but it’s cold ! This sort of weather
was specially felt in the Campania. We used to call her
a semi-submersible — going under after leaving the
Fastnet and coming up again making Sandy Hook !

At this time the Lusitania was completing at Clyde
Bank, and I joined her as Chief Officer to take over.
There was much to do, as I had to familiarize myself
with the ship and the thousand and one things about
her, also to arrange the organization so far as it
concerned me. Eventually we left the fitting-out
berth and, with several tug-boats in attendance, got
safely down the Clyde, anchoring off the “Tail of the
Bank.” The banks of the river were crowded with
sightseers, and excursion steamers plied about. She
was a veritable Queen of the Seas and Scotland was
very proud of her — as was also the Cunard Company
when, after completing our trials, we arrived in the
Mersey and she was formally taken over.

But I did not make a voyage in her — then. That
was to come later. The very day after arriving at
Liverpool I was relieved and — appointed to my first
command.

My ship was the Brescia, the newest and best of the
Cunard Cargo fleet.

Captain at last ! And yet — for a while just at first,

52

COMMAND

as I looked along the decks of the tiny Brescia, inevitably
comparing her with the huge Lusitania I had just left,
it seemed rather like the Irishman’s rise. But only
for a day or so. Then I was at sea with my own ship
and — well, one’s first command is a prideful occasion ;
the larger vessels could wait.

We called at Swansea to complete our cargo and
right at the outset I was to have the sense of responsi-
bility brought home to me, though I was not aware
of it until we had completed the voyage to the Medi-
terranean and were back at Liverpool. There a
rather nasty situation faced me.

Apparently, after we had left Swansea it was found
that the gates of the dock would not swing. A diver
was sent down to ascertain the cause and he discovered
that the chains had carried away. The basin was
emptied and there on the bed were a ship’s bilge
keels. They decided they must be ours.

I was asked on my return if I had lost my bilge keels.

“ No,” I said at once. The thing seemed im-
possible.

On discharging cargo, however, we went into dry
dock and lo ! our bilge keels were missing. I believe
our people thought I was bluffing — that I must have
known. But I didn’t — of course I didn’t. Would
any master take the responsibility of proceeding to
sea knowing the bilge keels had been ripped off with
the concomitant possibility of hundreds of rivets being
torn out of the ship’s side and leaking tons of water
to the minute ? That view was upheld and the matter

53

HOME PROM THE SEA

blew over, but, though I kept my job all right, it was
hardly an auspicious start as master.

The VenUi the Favia^ the Pamonia, and so to the
Carpathia, and it was while in command of the last-
named vessel that I experienced the most dramatic
and memorable night of my career — the night the
Titanic went down.

54

CHAPTER V

THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

O F the thousand pictures retained in my mind of
that tragic night when the Titanic was lost, the
first that recurs is of a man stooping as he unlaced his
boots !

He was the Marconi operator on board the Carpathia,
and if that officer had not been keen on his job, ignor-
ing the regulation time to knock off, many of the seven
hundred-odd lives we were able to save that night
might have been added to the appalling list of dead
that marks the disaster as the greatest in maritime
history.

In those days wireless was but a recent addition to
the equipment of ships at sea. We were quite proud
of our installation, though it had a normal range of
only 130 miles, and just over 200 miles in exceptionally
favourable circumstances.

And we carried only one operator.

This man should have finished duty at midnight.
Yet here was half-past twelve and he was still listening
in. But he was on the very point of retiring. He
was, in fact, in the act of bending down to undo his
boots when the dread call came, for in his interest
he still retained the phones upon his ears.

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HOME FROM THE SEA

“ S.O.S. Titanic calling. We have struck ice and
require immediate assistance.”

One can imagine him jerking upright, the alarm
growing in his mind, though to be sure, in those first
minutes, we none of us permitted our fears to embrace
so devastating an accident as it was destined to prove.
But it was the Titanic, a mammoth ship, proudful in
her size and power, carrying over two thousand souls
and making her maiden voyage from England to
America ! That was suflScient to impress on the
operator the magnitude of the danger and, throwing
the earphones to the table, he raced to the first officer
who was on watch at the time.

It is a dramatic thought, that if the signal had been
two or three minutes later we should not have picked
it up !

The news was at once brought to me. Curious how
trivial things stamp themselves on the mind in
moments of crisis. I can remember my door opening
— the door near the head of my bunk which com-
municated with the chart-room. I had but recently
turned in and was not asleep, and drowsily I said to
myself; “Who the dickens is this cheeky beggar
coming into my cabin without knocking ? ”

Then the first officer was blurting out the facts and
you may be sure I was very soon wide awake, with
thoughts for nothing but doing all that was in the
ship’s power to render the aid called for.

So incredible seemed the news that, having at once
given orders to turn the ship — we were bound from

56

THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

New York to Gibraltar and other Mediterranean ports,
while the Titanic was passing us westward bound, sixty
miles to our nor’ard — I got hold of the Marconi
operator and assured myself there could have been
no mistake.

“ Are you sure it is the Titanic that requires im-
mediate assistance ? ” I asked him.

“Yes, sir.”

But I had to ask again. “ You are absolutely
certain ? ” for remember, the wireless was not at the
pitch of perfection and reliability it is to-day.

“ Quite certain,” he replied.

“ All right,” I said then. “ Tell him we are coming
along as fast as we can.”

I went into the chart-room, having obtained from
the operator the Titanic’s position. It was Lat. 41°
46' N., Long. 50° 14' W.

I at once worked out the course and issued orders.
Within a few minutes of the call we were steaming
all we knew to the rescue. The Carpathia was a
fourteen-knot ship, but that night for three and a half
hours she worked up to seventeen knots. One of the
first things I did, naturally, was to get up the chief
engineer, explain the urgency of matters and, calling
out an extra watch in the engine-room, every ounce
of power was got from the boilers and every particle
of steam used for the engines, turning it from all other
uses, such as heating.

Fortunately it was night — fortunately, I mean, from
one aspect — all our passengers were in their bunks,

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HOME FROM THE SEA

Many never woke until the drama had been played
out, because one of my first instructions was that, as
far as possible, absolute silence should be maintained,
while every man was told to instruct any passengers
seen about to return to their cabins and stay there.

There was much to be done. All hands were called,
and then began over three hours of restless activity
and never-ending anxiety.

For though, as I say, it was fortunate that our
passengers were asleep, the covering of night added
to the risks we had to take. Ice ! Racing through
the dark towards we knew not what danger from
bergs, standing on the bridge with every one keeping
a bright look out, I was fully conscious of the danger
my own ship and passengers were sharing.

I may say now that the spring of that year was
phenomenal in regard to ice. The Titanic was on her
right course, a course where, it is true, one at times
may see ice, but that night was so exceptional as to
be unique in anyone’s memory. The reason was that
two summers before the season had been unusually
warm in the far north. Islands of ice had broken
adrift from their polar continent and come drifting
south. It took two years for these giant remnants
to work their way so far south and we were to be
amazed when daylight broke to find on every hand
berg and floe stretching as far as the eye could
reach.

Into that zone of danger we raced the Carpathian
every nerve strained watching for the ice. Once I

58

THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

saw one huge fellow towering into the sky quite near
— saw it because a star was reflected on its surface —
a tiny beam of warning which guided us safely past.
If only some such friendly star had glistened into the
eyes of the look-out on the Titanic, . . . Ah, well,
it was not to be.

Before I could take the bridge, however, there were
a thousand and one things to be done. They started at
once. Even as I stood in the chart-room working out
the position I saw the bosun’s mate pass with the
watch off to wash down decks. I called him, told
him to knock off routine work and get all our boats
ready for lowering, not making any noise. Question-
ing surprise leapt into his eyes.

" It’s all right,” I assured him. “ We are going to
another vessel in distress.”

The first officer I called, as I said, was the engineer.
Speed was the imperative need. When he had gone
to turn out his extra watch — and as soon as the men
heard what was wanted and why, many of them went
to work without waiting to dress ; good fellows ! —
I had up the English doctor, purser and chief steward
and to these I gave the instructions which follow :

The English doctor to remain in the first-class
dining-room ; the Italian doctor in the second-class
dining-room and the Hungarian doctor in the third.
All to have ready supplies of stimulants, restoratives
and other necessities.

Purser, with his assistant purser and chief steward,
to receive the rescued at the different gangways,

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HOME FROM THE SEA

controlling our own stewards in assisting the Titanic
passengers to the different dining-rooms for accom-
modation and attention. They also to get as far as
possible names of survivors, to be sent by wireless.

The inspector, steerage stewards and masters-at-
arms to control our own steerage passengers, keep them
out of the third-class dining-hall and to restrain them
from going on deck. Chief steward to call all hands
and have coffee ready for our men and soup, coffee,
tea, etc., for the rescued. Blankets to be placed ready
near gangways, in saloons and public rooms and others
handy for the boats. All spare berths in steerage to be
prepared for Titanic's third-class passengers while our
own steerage occupants were to be grouped together.

To all it was enjoined that the strictest silence and
discipline should be maintained, while a steward was
to be stationed in each gangway to reassure our own
passengers should any hear noise and inquire — such
inquirers to be asked politely but firmly to return to,
and remain, in their own cabins.

Here I might interpolate the experience of Mr. and
Mrs. Louis Ogden, friends of mine who were on board
that night. They occupied a deck cabin and it was
only to be expected that they should hear something
of the preparations that were going forward. Their
experience was duplicated many times, of course, by
other passengers, though, while all these things were
being done, the great majority of those on board slept
peacefully, unaware of our exertions. A great credit
to the crew.

6o

THE LOSS OF THE TlTAmC

Mr. Ogden told me later that during that night his
wife woke and aroused him.

“ What’s that noise on deck ? ” she asked.

“ Don’t worry ; go to sleep,” — the average man’s
reply to the anxious wife at such an hour. But, like
other ladies, she was not to be so summarily silenced.

“ Open the door and see what’s wrong.”

Mr. Ogden obeyed the injunction. Outside was a
steward. Mr. Ogden called him.

“ What’s the noise all about ? ” he asked.

“ Nothing, sir ; doing work with the boats.”

“ What for ? ” Mr. Ogden was growing interested.

“ I can’t tell you, sir.”

Mr. Ogden retired and quite naturally only made his
wife’s suspicions increase. She waited a few minutes
listening to the noises which were inevitable as our
boats were swung out on their davits.

“ Try again,” she requested at length.

This time Mr. Ogden, peeping out, encountered the
surgeon.

“ What’s the trouble ? ”

“ There’s no trouble. Please return to your cabin.
It is the Captain’s orders.”

Which didn’t allay doubts. Going back and repeat-
ing the conversation to his wife, they both began to
dress, putting their valuables in their pockets. Then
the lady’s insistence recommenced.

“ Try again.”

Once more Mr. Ogden opened the door — and,
curiously enough, he again looked into the face of

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the surgeon. No need for questions, the surgeon
ordered him back and told him on no account to leave
the cabin until the Captain gave instructions. But
the passenger was urgent and at length, as the only
method of satisfying him, the surgeon said : “ We
are going to the Titanic. She’s in distress.”

“ But isn’t this ship in distress ? ”

“ No, sir ; it’s the Titanic ; she’s struck ice.” But
then Mr. Ogden saw stewards in line carrying pillows
and blankets.

“ There’s something wrong,” he concluded. And
somehow he and Mrs, Ogden reached the deck.
There they found some nook or corner and remained
through the hours until, with the coming of the first
gleams of dawn, they saw the ice and eventually the
first boat.

Meanwhile, we were ploughing on through the
night — a brilliant night of stars. I had been able to
go to the bridge.

To me there the Marconi operator came reporting
he had picked up a message from the Titanic to the
Olympic asking the latter to have all her boats ready.
The sense of tragedy was growing. But the Olympic,
homeward bound, was hundreds of miles away, very
much farther than we were. The Titanic had also
called us. They asked how long we should be getting up.

“ Say about four hours,” I told the operator (we
did it in three and a half hours), “ and tell her we
shall have all our boats in readiness and all other
preparations necessary to receive the rescued.”

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THE LOSS OF THE TITAmC

I then gave the following orders to the first officer :

Prepare and swing out all boats ; all gangway doors
to be opened.

Electric clusters at each gangway and over the
side.

A block — with line rope — hooked in each gangway.

A chair — slung — at each gangway for getting up
sick or injured.

Pilot ladders and side ladders at gangways and over
the side.

Cargo falls, with both ends clear and bight secured,
along ship’s side on deck, for boat ropes or to help
people up.

Lines and gaskets to be distributed about the decks
to be handy for lashings, etc. Forward derricks to be
rigged and topped and steam on winches — to get mails
or other goods on board.

Oil to be poured down lavatories both sides to quiet
the sea.

Canvas ash-bags to be near gangways for the pur-
pose of hauling up children or helpless.

Company’s rockets to be fired from 3 a.m. every
quarter of an hour to reassure the Titanic.

And, beyond these, detailed instructions as to the
various duties of the officers should the situation
require the service of our boats.

At about 2.35 — ^roughly two hours after the first call
— the doctor came to the bridge and reported that all
instructions were carried out and everything was in
readiness.

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While we were talking together I saw a green flare
about a point on our port bow.

“ There’s her light,” I cried, pointing. “ She must
be still afloat.”

This looked like good news. An hour before the
Marconi operator had brought me a message from the
Titanic that the engine-room was filling. That had
looked fatal. It left little doubt that she was going
down. So to catch that green flare brought renewed
hope.

Almost at once the second officer reported the first
iceberg. It lay two points on the port bow and it was
the one whose presence was betrayed by the star beam.
More and more now were we all keyed up. Icebergs
loomed up and fell astern ; we never slackened,
though sometimes we altered course suddenly to avoid
them. It was an anxious time with the Titanic's
fateful experience very close in our minds. There
were seven hundred souls on the Carpathia ; these lives,
as well as all the survivors of the Titanic herself,
depended on a sudden turn of the wheel.

As soon as there was a chance that we were in view,
we started sending up rockets at intervals of about a
quarter of an hour and, when still nearer, fired the
Company’s Roman candles (night signals) to let them
know it was the Carpathia that was approaching.
Occasionally we caught sight of a green light ; we
were getting pretty near the spot.

By this time the hope that their green signals had
at first bred in us was gone. There was no sign of

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

the Titanic herself. By now — it was about 3.35 a.m.
— we were almost up to the position and had the giant
liner been afloat we should have seen her. The skies
were clear, the stars gleaming with that brightness
which only a keen frosty air brings to them, and
visibility was as good as it could be on a moonless
night. I put the engines on the “ stand by ” so that
the engineers should be on the alert for instant action.
At four o’clock I stopped the engines ; we were there.

As if in corroboration of that judgment, I saw a
green light just ahead of us, low down. That must
be a boat I knew and, just as I was planning to come
alongside, I saw a big berg immediately in front of us
— the second officer reporting it at the same moment.
I had meant to take the boat on the port side, which
was the lee side if anything, though there was not
much wind or sea. But the iceberg altered the plan.
It was necessary to move with the utmost expedition.
I swung the ship round and so came alongside the
first of the Titanic's boats on the starboard side.

Devoutly thankful I was that the long race was over ;
every minute had brought its risk — a risk that only
keen eyes and quick decisions could meet — but with
that feeling was the veritable ache which the now-
certain knowledge of the liner’s loss brought. No sign
of her — and below was the first boat containing
survivors,

A hail came up from her. “ We have only one
seaman in the boat and cannot work very well.”

They were a little way off our gangway.

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“All right,” I told them and brought the vessel
right alongside. Then they started climbing aboard.
Obviously they had got away in a hurry, for there
were only twenty-five of them whereas the capacity
of the boat was fully forty. They were in charge of
one officer.

I asked that this officer should come to me as soon
as he was on board and to him I put that heart-rending
inquiry, knowing with a terrible certainty what his
answer was to be.

“ The Titanic has gone down ? ”

“ Yes,” he said ; one word that meant so much—
so much that the man’s voice broke on it. “ She went
down at about two-thirty.”

An hour and a half ago ! Alas, that we had not
been nearer !

But there was no time for vain regrets. Daylight
was just setting in and what a sight that new day
gradually revealed ! Everywhere were icebergs.
About a third of a mile on our starboard beam was
the one that a few minutes ago had faced us ; less
than a hundred feet off our port quarter was a growler
— a broken- off lump of ice ten to fifteen feet high and
twenty-five feet long. But stretching as far as the eye
could reach were masses of them. I instructed a
junior officer to go to the wheel-house deck and count
them. Twenty-five there were over two hundred feet
in height and dozens ranging from a hundred and
fifty down to fifty feet.

And amid the tragic splendour of them as they lay

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

in the first shafts of the rising sun, boats of the lost ship
floated. From that moment we went on picking them
up and as the rescued came aboard their thankfulness
for safety was always mingled with the sense of their
loss and the chattering cold that possessed them.
Many of the women had been hours in those open
boats, shielded from the almost Arctic cold only by
a coat hastily thrown over night clothes — telling of the
urgency with which they had left the ship, suggesting
to the imagination awful long-drawn-out anxiety
before the slips were loosed and the boat was on the
water and away.

Slowly we cruised from boat to boat and as we
neared the end of our questing, one gathered the
enormity of the disaster. Altogether we picked up
seven hundred and six persons ; but on the Titanic
crew and passengers numbered over 2,000 — so many
hundreds lost who a few short hours before had been
members of a gay and distinguished company — half-
way through the maiden voyage of one of the world’s
largest liners !

While we slowly cruised, we held a service in the
first-class dining-room — ^in memory of those who were
lost and giving thanks for those who had been saved.

Except for tire boats beside the ship and the ice-
bergs, the sea was strangely empty. Hardly a bit of
wreckage floated— just a deck-chair or two, a few life-
belts, a good deal of cork ; no more flotsam than one
can often see on a seashore drifted in by the tide. The
ship had plunged at the last, taking everything with

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her. I saw only one body in the water ; the in-
tense cold made it hopeless for anyone to live long
in it.

It was not for us to remain, especially as about this
time — eight o’clock — ^we saw another ship coming up.
This was the Californian. She carried no wireless and
all the night had been lying not many miles away,
hove to because of the ice. We signalled her now,
asking her to continue searching as we were about to
make for New York. The sea was rising and I was
anxious to get well away from that danger zone in
good daylight. So we got as many of the Titanic's
boats as we could on board, some remaining suspended
in our davits, others hauled on the forecastle head,
and proceeded.

I may mention here that during the work of getting
the boats alongside I happened to look down from the
bridge and saw my friend Mr. Ogden. The day
before he had been trying a new camera he had with
him. So I cupped my hands and shouted down :
“ What about that new camera ? ” He glanced my
way, threw up his hands as if to say he had never
thought of it, sped off and in a few minutes was taking
snaps of the boats as they came alongside.

They are the only authentic records of the occasion
and surely an amateur photographer never had a more
thrilling scene to take ! The Carpathia had stopped
in mid-Atlantic. It was a beautiful morning, a clear
sun burning on sea and glistening on the icebergs.
On every side there were dozens of these monsters,

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

SO wonderful to look at, so dreadful to touch. Some
boats containing the survivors were alongside ; people
were climbing up the ship’s side, others being pulled
up ; all wearing lifebelts (and incidentally it was the
wearing of these that protected those who had been
so long exposed in the boats and prevented many from
dangerous chills) ; and then, from every quarter, boats
were pulling in, all making for one common objective
— the Carpathia.

One thing stands out in my mind about it all — the
quietness. There was no noise, no hurry. When our
passengers at length came on deck they were some time
before they seemed to realize the stupendous nature
of the tragedy ; it was too big to assimilate at once.
Their hardly-awakened senses could not respond to
the immensity of the scene. But as soon as reality
followed on questionings, I must say our people
understood that they must not remain spectators ;
that here was a situation unparalleled in which they
must play a part. They set about comforting the
rescued, persuading them to take nourishment or
stimulant, seeking to soften the grief which wrapped
them round about. Our doctors must have been
relieved to see our passengers using their persuasion
and common sense so successfully.

They saw the survivors required dry and warm
clothing, so off they took them to their own cabins to
fit them out with everything they could. All our men
passengers gave up their cabins and many of the ladies
doubled up with others so as to leave their own

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quarters free for the distressed. Every officer, of
course, yielded his accommodation.

In my cabin were three ladies, each of whom were
bereaved. Their husbands, all millionaires, had
perished and, in addition, one lady had lost a son.
On the other hand, one had her son with her whose
saving had that touch of the dramatic that was in
evidence time and again that night.

This boy had been separated from his mother but
later on had found a place in a collapsible boat.
These things are like ordinary boats as to the hull
except that they are flat-bottomed and their sides are
canvas and can be folded down. The sides of the one
this boy was in collapsed for some reason and he, with
others, was kneeling on the hull. His position was
even more precarious than it sounds, for, since they
were helpless to propel it in any way, the boat was
floating in the near vicinity of the liner and couldn’t
move away. It was right under her stern and from
this boy I heard a graphic account of how the Titanic
up-ended herself and remained poised like some
colossal nightmare of a fish, her tail high in the air,
her nose deep in the water, until she dived finally
from human sight.

That collapsible was fortunate not to have been
sucked down with the ship, probably the suction was
lessened by reason of the pause and then the sliding
movement she took ; at all events, the helpless boat
merely bobbed a little dangerously and remained
afloat.

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

In a little while a ship’s boat came near. It was
hailed and the boy was taken into her. And the
first person whom he saw in this rescuing boat was
his own mother. Imagine the joy of that meeting.

But it was more than matched by another, rather
similar, episode of that night.

Some of the first boats may have got away not
filled to capacity, but later others certainly were
overloaded and there were heart-rending moments
when too-well-laden boats pulling about encountered
poor fellows swimming in that ice-cold sea.

In this case I am recounting a boat’s gunwale was
seized for’ard by a swimmer. It was well before
dawn. No one could see who it was, but many
voices were raised protesting against him being
hauled in.

“ We are full ; we are full,” they cried. “ Don’t
let him come in ! ”

One woman in the stern sheets, however, nursing
her sorrow of a husband left behind on the sunken
ship, begged for the swimmer to be taken in. The
pity in her pleading prevailed and she knew the
swimmer had been saved before she sank back into
the frozen coma that great tragedy engenders.

Hours passed. At length dawn lit the haggard
faces of those who huddled shiveringly in that boat.
Only then did the woman see the features of the
drenched man she had been chiefly instrumental in
dragging from a death by drowning.

It was her own husband.

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It Stirred the heart to see the fortitude of the
bereaved, just as it sent a glow of pride to listen to
some of the tales that were gradually revealed by the
survivors of the sights that had been witnessed during
those last hours on the sinking ship. Tales of bravery
and self-sacrifice that add lustre to the human story,
shown by every class. In those hours of trial, facing
death, men were equal in heroism, whether they
were the humblest or such as had much of this
world’s possessions. And one wondered, looking into
the troubled and sometimes vacant faces of those
who were saved, whether they or those left behind
had the harder part to play. But it is sure that there
were many that night who, loaded with riches and
honours, showed they possessed the greater gifts of
self-sacrifice and self-command.

We heard then and later of tales of the famous,
tales, too, of the unknown. Of them all one remains
warm in my memory. It concerns a young girl.

A boat full of women was ready for lowering from
the stricken ship. It was found to be too full and
the order was given for someone to get out. What
a moment ! But it had to be done, for the overfull
boat endangered the lives of all, A young lady — a
girl really — got up to leave the boat. At once some
of the others protested, pleading that she should
stay.

“No,” she said, “you are married and have
families. I’m not j it doesn’t matter about me.”

She stepped out of the boat and returned to the

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THE LOSS OF THE TITAMC

deck. She went down with the ship. She gave her
life that others might live. No words of mine can
add to the beauty of that action. But that night
it was duplicated a hundred times as the boats went
off— until there were no more to go and those who
remained knew all hope of safety was dissipated.

The night and the morning were crowded with
incidents. Here is one that shows how truth can
indeed be stranger than fiction. It also throws a
light on the amazing quietness and smoothness with
which the crew of the Carpathia went about their task
of preparation and rescue.

We had sailed from New York on April ii (1912).
It had been a pleasant and smooth passage save for
the intense cold, upon which we all remarked. On
the Sunday — three days out — we were in reach by
wireless of the Titanic. At dinner that night a mes-
sage was received from that ship — a private com-
munication. It came from two young ladies who
were aboard her and was addressed to their uncle
and aunt — Mr. and Mrs. Marshall — ^who were on the
Carpathia. Just a cheery greeting, saying how they
were enjoying the crossing on the new ship.

It was that same night she went down.

The Marshalls knew nothing of it. They retired
to their state cabin ; they went to sleep. The night
was calm, the sea smooth, they slept on all through
the preparations that were going on aboard. But
among the first of the survivors who came up one
of the gangways were the two nieces who a few

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hours before had been wirelessing from the Titanic
to the Marshalls. While the latter had been sleep-
ing, these young ladies had been through all the
agony of the night.

It was about half-past six when the Marshalls awoke.
A steward knocking on their door aroused them.

“ What is it ? ” asked Mr. Marshall.

“ Your nieces wish to see you, sir,” replied the
steward.

No wonder he was dumbfounded ; hardly believ-
ing his eyes when he opened the door and looked
upon the girls, not crediting his senses as he listened
to their story.

Looking back on that morning I am persuaded to
emphasize again as the outstanding feature the silence
on board. There was absolutely no excitement. At
first no doubt the enormity of the occurrence stunned
the sensibilities of our passengers when they knew
of it, while the rescued came solemnly, dumbly, out
of a shivering shadow. Afterwards every one was too
occupied to think.

The ladies were very soon self-appointed nursing
sisters, getting the new-comers to lie abed, others to
rest on deck, and doing what they could to ease suffer-
ing and console. As many of the second- and third-
class passengers who came aboard were but poorly
clothed, blankets and sheets were requisitioned and
many of the ladies started to make clothes. Others
went to the third-class and busied themselves nursing,
clothing and feeding the children. The cream of

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

human kindness was surely extended that morning
and during the days that followed while we made New
York, and through it all that quietness reigned — as
though the disaster were so great that it silenced human
emotion. It seems incredible that the trying experi-
ences through which so many had passed should
not have developed hysterical trouble, in some at least,
but it didn’t. Indeed, on Tuesday morning Dr.
McGee came to me and made the satisfactory report
that “ all the survivors were physically well ! ”
Marvellous !

I knew that was the reward of endless attention
on his part and that of the entire staff. No one
relinquished their utmost efforts. Loyally and cheer-
fully every member of the crew, both officers and men,
gave of their best. Doctors, pursers, stewards —
even the little bell-boys — all entertained no thought
of rest from the moment I issued my first orders
until we had landed the survivors in New York and
had again left to take up our interrupted voyage to the
Mediterranean.

In all that large assembly of differing human
beings I heard of only one instance of selfishness.
A certain foreigner who had come aboard bedded
himself down in one of the smoke-rooms. With
an acquisidve eye, and a disregard of others, he
had obtained several blankets for his own comfort.
These were draped round his portly figure when other
men found they were devoid of any. He was asked
to share up, but adopted that old motto of “ What

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I have I hold.” There was a small council of war
among a few men. But the war was soon over — and
the blankets distributed.

Which reminds me of another incident in lighter
vein — for in the human drama, however near the
tragic, there always seems to shoot a ray or two of
humour. The man himself told me the experience
later and, with the heaviness of the immediate worry
off my mind, I couldn’t help laughing at the picture
his tale called up.

It seems that he, having given up his cabin, was
bedless. He wandered about the ship looking for
some niche in which to curl up when, mirahile ! he
espied an empty mattress with some blankets handy.
With a sigh of relief he lay down, pulled the blankets
over his head and went peacefully to sleep. Can you
imagine his disconcerted surprise when in the morn-
ing he woke up to find himself entirely surrounded
by women ? He had camped himself out in a portion
of the ship which had been reserved for the rescued
ladies and had lain there unnoticed through the
night. His retreat was more hurried than strategic.

Well, having left the Californian in charge of the
search — hopeless as it was that any man could live
in that ice-cold sea — ^we started on our return. We
soon found our passage blocked by a tremendous
ice-field. There surely never was so much ice in
that latitude. We had, of course, seen this field
before, but had no means of knowing how compact
it was or what was its extent. All we could see

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THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

was that it stretched to the horizon — a remarkable
awesome sight with great bergs up to two hundred
feet in height standing out of the general field, which,
itself, was six to twelve feet above the water-line.
These little mountains were just catching the early
sunshine which made them take on all manner of
wonderful aspects. Minarets like cathedral towers
turned to gold in the distances and, here and there,
some seemed to shape themselves like argosies under
full sail.

For nearly four hours we sailed round this pack
— quite fifty-six miles. Then we were clear and could
set our course for New York.

I ought to mention that the Olympic, which at
the time of the disaster was some hundreds of miles
to the westward, having left New York on the Satur-
day, had wirelessed suggesting she should take off
the rescued. But I was against any such move.
Fortunately, Mr. Ismay, the chairman of the White
Star Line, was among those saved, and when I
informed him, suggesting that it would be unwise
to endeavour to tranship these poor people who
had just been saved from the boats, he at once agreed
and told me to request the Olympic to keep out of sight.
So on we went, still passing other isolated bergs from
time to time. I remember that about noon we
passed the Russian steamer Burmah who, bound
east, made an endeavour to cut through that ice-
pack. But he turned out again and I didn’t blame
him either !

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We were able to communicate to the Olympic the
bare facts of the disaster, and I also sent the official
message to the Gunard Company together with as
many names of the survivors as we then had. This
offered the first chance we had of dispatching the
news to shore. It was — owing to the short range of
wireless then in operation — also the last opportunity
we had of establishing communication until Wed-
nesday afternoon, and then we learned how the world
had waited in suspense for details and especially a
correct and complete list of passengers and crew
who had been saved.

After the ice, we ran into that other great enemy
of ships at sea — fog. For hours it enshrouded us, and
again on Wednesday it came down thick, continuing
more or less all the way to New York. The dismal
nerve-racking noise of the whistle every half-
minute must have been particularly distressing to
the survivors, and I was sorry for their state of mind,
having encountered this after all their other experi-
ences.

We had taken three bodies from the boats and one
man died during the forenoon on Monday. All four
were buried on Monday afternoon, Protestant and
Roman Catholic services being held over them.

During Wednesday afternoon we were in com-
munication with U.S.S. Chester — dense fog at the
time — and through her were able to send a more
complete list of survivors and corrections. We picked
up Fire Island light-vessel from its fog-horn on Thurs-

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day afternoon and, about six, stopped off Ambrose
Channel lightship and took on our pilot. And now
we got some idea of that suspense every one was in.
Press boats literally surrounded us !

I decided that these journalists must not come on
board. The comfort of the rescued had to be the
first consideration. To have them interviewed by
dozens of alert young newspaper men, eager to get
the most lurid details, would cause endless distress,
making them live it all over again. It was, of course,
only in the nature of the reporters’ jobs to get news,
and when I told them they would not be allowed
on board it was amusing to see the tactics some of
them adopted to defeat my ruling.

These Press boats carried huge placards announcing
this was from such and such a paper and that from
another. They badgered and pleaded to be allowed
to interview me and the passengers, but I could not
oblige. Two pressmen adopted the ruse of coming
in the pilot’s boat. Now he was a friend of mine,
and it was not easy to give him a straight refusal.

“ Gan these fellows come aboard ? ” he yelled.

I cupped my hands and sang out : “I can’t hear
you.”

“ They want to come aboard. They have friends
on the ship.”

“ I can’t hear what you say,” I shouted and they
knew, I guess, I was prevaricating. When the pilot
had the ladder down, however, I expected they would
try to get on board after him. So I had a rope bent

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from the bottom of the ladder and set two boys to
haul it in as the pilot came up. You can see what
happened. The moment the pilot had lifted his
foot from one rung to the next, the boys drew in the
rope and the ladder was hoisted right under the man’s
heels. One of the two in his boat made a jump and
tried to follow, but the ladder wasn’t there and he fell
backwards.

Of them all one pressman only got aboard. That
was later, after we were stopped off quarantine.
He made a jump that risked his life and landed on
the deck. This was reported to me and I had him
brought to the bridge. I explained my reasons for
not having anyone on board and that I could not
allow the passengers to be interviewed. I put him
on his honour not to leave the bridge under certain
penalties and, I must say, he was a gentleman.
After we had docked and the passengers had left I
know he made a good story out of his exploit, being
the only man to get aboard, and I believe he got
complimented — which, after all, he deserved for his
temerity.

But before we got to quarantine, the weather made
another violent change. It brought the most drama-
tic ending to the tragic episode. First it began to
blow hard, then the rain tumbled down and, as a
finale, as though the curtain had to come down under
unusual surroundings, it commenced to lightning.
Vivid flashes accompanied us all the way up the
channel to quarantine and heavy thunder-claps

8o

3 ,. ’

FIFTH OFFICER LtGHTOLLER BRINGING IN THE Titcmic’s EqaTS

ONE OF THE TUanic’s collapsible boats

THE LOSS OF THE TITANIC

rolled across the skies. This weather held until we
were off the Cunard dock.

While on the bridge in the pelting rain a bundle
of letters and a number of telegrams were brought
to me. I couldn’t examine them at the moment
and put them in my pocket. During a lull, later on,
I ran into my chart-room, dipped a hand into my
rather full pocket and drew out one item — only one.
It was a cable and came from my wife ! Quite
satisfied I returned to my bridge.

It was a scene never to be forgotten. Press photo-
graphers on the dock let off their flashlights. All
round the ship were dozens of tug-boats and, before
we could tie up, all the Titanic's boats had to be
lowered because they were in the way of working the
mooring ropes. In each of those boats went two
of the Titanic's rescued crew and to see them pull
into the pitchy night brought back to one’s mind again
the last occasion when they had been lowered from
their own great and magnificent mother ship which
was destined never to arrive at this harbour.

After nine o’clock at night they left us — those who
had come out of the terror of shipwreck — and no one
was more glad than I to see them passing on to the
land. Not, of course, that they personally were well
rid of, but to think that the long guardianship was
over and they were safe. We had all been strained
to the highest pitch of anxiety and the extent of that
concern was now the measure of our relief The job
was done. We at once thought of our own affairs.

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We had set out to make the Mediterranean ; we had
a fairly full complement of passengers. I hastily
replenished linen, blankets, etc., that the interruption
had utilized, from a sister ship, and that same Thurs-
day afternoon — exactly a week from the time of our
previous sailing — we left the dock, re-stored, watered
and coaled, and — went on with our job. One of our
passengers left us, but we took on two fresh ones so
that we had a gain of one !

It had been, indeed, an eventful week — eventful
in the histoiy of shipping, it was to prove. One of
the results was that the Board of Trade made new
regulations that on every ship at sea there were to be
carried sufficient boats to accommodate all pas-
sengers and crew. To-day it seems incredible that
it needed this appalling calamity to bring in such a
regulation — and it hardly bears thinking about that
if there had been sufficient boats that night when the
Titanic was lost every soul aboard could have been
saved, since it was two and a half hours after she
struck that she tilted her mammoth stern into the
heavens and sank by the head, taking with her
all that were unprovided for. Now, yonder from
Portsmouth even on the little ferry boats that ply
between port and the Isle of Wight there are life-
saving appliances for all the passengers the ferries can
hold.

One other good thing resulted from the disaster.
Supported by both Britain and America, there is
now a constant ice patrol — from March to July or

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August — always watching along the latitudes where
sometimes the ice reaches — and reporting to all ship-
ping whenever there floats out of the icy maw of the
far north bergs which might bring to some other ill-
fated. ship the calamity which met the Titanic,

Titanic ! Of all the remarkable incidents con-
nected with the short life of that ship of destiny
not the least was her name. If you look in your
dictionary you will find : Titans. — A race of people
vainly striving to overcome the forces of nature.

Could anything be more unfortunate than such a
name, anything more significant ?

That would seem to be the natural end to the story. ■
Yet for me the repercussions went on for some time.
Having refuelled/filled up our water-tanks and so on,
we took up our intermpted voyage. In July I
returned to England overland from Naples to attend
the inquiry held in London into the Titanic’s loss ;
then followed several weeks of holiday. It was in
December that I left the Carpathia, leaving on board
the testimonials with which we had been presented
by the rescued. There followed a round of social
functions. I had to be in Washington on March 2
to receive from the hands of President Taft the
Congressional Medal of Honour “ with the thanks
of Congress.” The British Ambassador, Lord Bryce,
took us to White House to receive this, the highest
honour the United States Government can bestow,
and afterwards we returned to the British Embassy
where I was presented with the American Gross of

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Honour. My wife and I had a royal time for a few
days and then returned in the Mauretania — the
Mauretania which I was to command so long and
through such exciting times.

And it was during those exciting times of the war
which were soon to be upon us that the gallant
Carpathia was to end her days. She was torpedoed
in Mayj igiB, off the south of Ireland. It was a
sorry end to a fine ship, yet it is a fitting end to my
tale of her career. She had done her bit both in
peace and war, and she lies in her natural element,
resting her long rest on a bed of sand.

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CHAPTER VI

WAR— WHY WE FAILED IN GALLIPOLI

T here are several million of men and women
who have their own personal experience of the
War. When I contemplate my own, one of the most
remarkable facts that at once leaps to my mind is
that during hostilities six Cunard ships which had
been under my command were sunk — after I had left
them.

And that reminds me that during all my forty-six
years of wanderings and adventures I cannot claim
the distinction of ever having been shipwrecked.

It seemed as though some special providence
guided me through the War. As I mentioned at the
outset, I once went out from Marseilles across a
danger zone when a ship was torpedoed in front of
me and another just behind.

There was an occasion, as I shall relate, when
a great ship was sent to the bottom with over a
thousand lives directly after I had passed her. I
traversed the Mediterranean all through the fiasco
of Gallipoli when the average loss of ships was 1.5 per
day of total tonnage. I took my quota of troops to
make the Gallipoli landing — and watched that epic
endeavour two miles off shore. And all through,

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my star remained undimmed. In all that maelstrom
of disaster I was never once hit. To-day, in the
tranquil environment of the Downs, with that wild
and breathless story behind, I find words of gratitude
come very readily to the mind.

But — to the log.

News of the great outbreak came to my ears in
Montreal, where I had gone in the new ship Alaunia^
my latest command. On the way from the office to
the ship I saw the placards announcing the declara-
tion of war and, as I walked along a little contem-
platively, I heard a woman say : “ Yes, and they
will take all our men from us.” How nearly correct
was that prophecy !

There was, of course, great excitement in the town,
but we were to feel the direct effect, perhaps, before
anyone else out there. When we left harbour we
had strict instructions to watch out for enemy cruisers.
Not only was that a general order ; in this case it
was particular in that our people had definite know-
ledge that, even then, there were two German cruisers
lying off the Newfoundland coast.

We had to pass them.

Dense fog set in on our way down the Gulf of
St. Lawrence, but it was war-time now and we had
to take risks. We steamed full speed, with the whistle
blowing just at odd intervals, and we had one very
close shave of colliding with a vessel going the opposite
way. That seemed nothing ; we realized the sea
was to be full of dangers now.

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The weather cleared off Gape Race and very soon
we were among floe ice ; it was soft, however, and
we were able to cut through it. After dinner that
first night out I left the bridge to go round the prom-
enade deck and, just as I stepped through the door,
I noticed several people staring in one direction with
a suspicious intentness. They were in the forepart
of the ship and I joined them.

Right ahead I discerned the dim shape of a vessel.
I knew at once what it was, whether they did or not.
It was an enemy cruiser.

I betrayed no haste as I turned and walked away
from the group. Even as I did I could hear hurried
steps overhead leaving the bridge and I knew what
that meant — a messenger for me. I was able to stop
him speaking within anyone’s hearing. The mes-
senger was at the top of the ladder as I reached its
base and he almost jumped down in his excitement.

“ It’s all right,” I told him quickly but quietly,
“ I’ve seen it.”

The officer of the watch had rung up “ full speed ”
twice on the engines and had turned the ship away
from the cruiser. I at once turned her right round
and even as I did so couldn’t help smiling as I watched
the chief engineer come slowly along the promenade
deck and up the ladder to the bridge.

“ What exactly do you want ? ” he inquired with
forced patience. “ The ship is making all she can.”

With a shrug I told him he must make extra speed
and then pointed out the cruiser. He didn’t leave

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with that measured tread which had characterized
his approach ! And soon the ship was pulsing to all
her engines could do.

I had wirelessed one of our own cruisers and, as it
was getting dusk, I had a hope that I could outsteam
the enemy. Half an hour and it was dark ; then
I wirelessed my course en claire. Behind that was a
purpose. Very soon the wireless operator came
running to say a Telefmken wireless had repeated my
message to another ship ! This was what I was
waiting for. Now that the enemy thought they knew
my course, I altered it four points and, in an hour,
another four points. We were absolutely dark, of
course, not a light showed aboard. I had received a
message in reply to mine from one of our ships, but
I did not answer until I was well away in case the
other fellow had his direction-finder working. We
never sighted the enemy again.

And so to Plymouth with no further incident.

In London I reported for duty to the Registrar-
General, but was told to stay in command of my
ship. Back we went to Montreal, full of passengers
rushing home, so crowded that any and every speck
of accommodation was eagerly taken ; first-class
passengers quite pleased and glad to get third-class
cabins.

Then we began trooping.

After a busy week or so we left the St. Lawrence
in a convoy of about 37 vessels escorted by cruisers.
We were bringing 35,000 Canadian officers and men

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to the war. All went well until we arrived nearly
in home waters, when we heard that submarines
were operating off the Isle of Wight and so our
destination was abruptly changed from Southampton
to Plymouth.

You have most likely seen the play “Journey’s
End ” and will remember how Captain Stanhope
looks in imagination through the walls of the dugout
to picture the crawling worms, and so on, that actually
exist out of sight. For four years it was every minute
of the day and night easy for us at sea to imagine
the tin fish of the enemy lying beneath the water
— where ? starboard, port, ahead, astern ? — with his
deadly projectile aimed. Their speed saved many
of the ocean flyers — how often we heard stories of
torpedoes passing astern a vessel by the narrowest of
margins — but the fortunes of war favoured me in
that respect, for though many of my old ships came
to disaster, I was lucky throughout and thus my
memories of the War, while those of one in the arena,
are not coloured by actual personal hurt.

Our next trip was to India, and we carried two batta-
lions of the Home Division (Territorials) to take the
place of the Regulars who had been sent to the front.
Those two battalions were not as friendly as they
might have been ; I don’t know what the friction
was and did not care, but it came to my notice in a
peculiar and rather amusing way.

One lot started to grouse about the food. Now
the Cunard Company were allowing them full third-

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class scale, which was infinitely superior to the
ordinary Admiralty allowance. They probably did
not know this ; anyhow, they complained to their
ov\m colonel and he carried forward the complaint
to the senior colonel who, perforce, brought it to
me.

It was inconsiderate of the men and I had to take
some sort of notice of it.

“ ril teach them a lesson,” I told the senior colonel
(whose own men had not complained).

“ What shall you do ? ”

What I did I did in front of him. I called the chief
steward hnd bade him bring up his menu together
with the Admiralty List, We compared them,

“ So,” said I, “ this — and that and that — are not
in the Admiralty List ? ”

“ No, sir.”

“ Then cut them out.” In some cases I instructed
him to halve what we had been giving — all in strict
accordance with the Admiralty rations,

“ But, I say,” broke in the senior colonel, “ your
rather drastic lesson is going to apply to my men as
well as the others, and we have made no complaint.”

“ That is unfortunately so,” I admitted.

“ I’m sorry,” he said.

“ So am I,” I assured him.

Well, the “ lesson ” lasted one day. At the end
of it the disaffected men asked for the old rations
to be put back. The senior colonel came on their
behalf to bring that request

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WAR — ^WHY WE FAILED IN GALLIPOLI

“ Send the junior colonel to me,” I replied. “ If
he apologizes for his fellows having caused us so much
trouble I’ll consider the matter.”

He came and said his piece and all was well there-
after.

They disembarked at Bombay, and we took on
details and families — 2,400 women and children, a
rather pathetic lot, since the men belonging to them
were already in the trenches and one could not help
wondering how many of those who walked about
our decks were already widows and orphans, not
knowing it.

I used to look down on them from the bridge.
Just beneath me one family, consisting of a mother
and four children, slept at night. The mother would
arrive with her little brood about 8 p.m. The
baby would be given the place nearest her and then
the remainder would stretch out in order of age, the
outside child being only about six years old.

But even the seriousness that lay behind their lives
did not eradicate the small human note. Mrs.
Sergeant-Major would request to see the captain.
Why should Mrs. Colour-Sergeant have better
accommodation than she had ? That’s what she
wanted to know. She claimed her rights as holding
superior rank, she did. And then there was one little
hussy whose chief object in life seemed to be to flirt.
She set her cap at every male within range. The fact
that her husband was on board made no difference,
and he formulated a complaint, asking if he couldn’t

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have a divorce ! She was rather a handful and so
were many of the women who, having been used to
native servants in India, would not keep their cabins
clean. There was only one thing for it. I threatened
them all that if they didn’t obey orders and behave
they would be put ashore at Aden and left to make
their way home as best they could. That woke them
up to the realities of life.

I never wanted to carry families again. It was a
shipload of trouble. Meanwhile other ships in our
convoy had troops onboard, being, indeed, the famous
29th Division which later was to make history by
their epochal landing on Gallipoli in conjunction
with the Anzacs.

After a voyage to New York and Halifax, we
received orders to fit out for troops. This was in
March, 1915) when, as the world was to know later,
the Allies were planning the Gallipoli campaign.

Now I am impelled to say something candid about
Gallipoli. What a fiasco it was ! It is not my
sphere, or my intention, to argue this way or that
about the adventure from a naval, military or political
standpoint. Sufficient for me is that the operation
was carried out within my personal view and, merely
as a close observer, I put forward the statement
that it was, in some details, mismanaged. I some-
times wonder just how far-reaching the difference
would have been if that first landing had been a
success, and, looking back, it is astonishing how little
care in many respects was taken to guarantee that

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victory should reward the amazing, the unbelievable
bravery of our men who made the initial onslaught.

I went eastbound for Mudros full of troops. In
the iEgean a wireless switched me into Alexandria.
There, in a few days, was assembled a fleet of ships
— a modern Armada — every ship full of troops.

Often had I sailed the ^Egean in peace-time. I
had steamed up the Dardanelles, past Chanak out
into the Sea of Marmora and to Constantinople.
And now we were to take all these men somewhere
near Gape Helles and we were to have some idea
later what British soldiers can face, landing on a
hostile coast, expected, the beach honeycombed with
trenches filled with a plucky and fatalistic enemy.
Thousands and thousands were to go down or return
to us broken and hurt. But as we set sail for Mudros
they were all cheery and keen to “get at ’em.”

I have stressed that word — “ expected.” Let me
tell you why. It is the secret of our disaster.

There were some fifty ships at Mudros, not to
mention battleships and cruisers. From these ships,
whenever possible, the men were landed for exercise.
Like mushrooms, spies sprang up everywhere and
it is certain that the Island was haunted by them.

Naturally enough, when on shore, the men would
be allowed to “ stand easy and fall out.” There
was probably a cafe handy. The men might enter
and, over a glass of beer or wine, would probably
talk of the coming attack on the peninsula. That
all the information thus broadcast was conveyed

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to the enemy is undoubted. It was but a night’s sail
in a small boat from Mudros to Gallipoli — and many,
unfriendly to the Allies, must have made the trip.

No secret at all was made about where the landings
were to be effected. This battalion at this beach,
that company at that. And so on. The men knew
their objective long beforehand and, indeed, made
special study of the lie of the land. What was the
result ? When the great moment came every beach
where a landing was sought ims a beach that the enemy
had selected for the fullest possible preparation in the way of
defence. Our men were raked with a deadly, drench-
ing fire long before they set foot on shore.

But with only thoughts of attack in their minds— a
successful landing whatever the odds— we and certain
other ships set out for Tenedos on the afternoon
before the projected attack.

The eve of that famous landing ! It would be
difficult to convey the atmosphere of that night as the
huge fleet, silent as ghost ships, moved in utter
darkness to their various allotted positions. The
troops had, of course, left the transports and were
aboard battleships and cruisers. At daybreak all was
ready.

A slight mist hung over the land when at 5 a.m.
hundreds of guns of all calibres opened fire. One
could hear the roar of the Queen Elizabeth’s fifteen-
inch guns and a thousand smaller barks — every
muzzle trained on the shore as if they would sink
the very peninsula. Achi Baba stood out well-

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defined in the morning light four or five miles inland —
Achi Baba which our men were to have taken by eight
o’clock — Achi Baba on whose slopes no British
officer or man was destined to set foot throughout
the entire campaign !

The bombardment continued for one hour and at
six o’clock our fellows were fighting their way on the
beaches. They were landed from boats towed by
steam launches and the smaller destroyers. The
former, from the battleships and cruisers, were
commanded by midshipmen — boys of from sixteen to
nineteen years of age — and it was fine — and terrible
— to see the way one and all faced the hail of death
that met them. As I say, every spot chosen for
landing was just the one especially prepared by the
enemy. He knew as intimately as our own command
the detailed plan of campaign.

Do you wonder what those men thought about as
they were taken slowly towards their great ordeal ?
I have a picture of one launch in my mind at the
moment. It passed close under our bows and it was
towing three boats. The soldiers in these boats were
within a few minutes of meeting the enemy. F or weeks
they had been trained for this mmute, and one knew
that many of them would not live through the next
hour. Yet as they passed under our eyes, the job
ahead seemed the last thing of which they thought.
To our amazement they were engrossed in a game of
cards.

Salute the officers and men of the Twenty-Ninth !

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They did a job of work that morning which is good
to recall in these later times of political mouthings
and catch-phrases.

To have witnessed that epic landing is to have
seen the gallantry of man at its highest. I stood on
the bridge that dawn and watched it all. At length
they were on shore — a shaky foothold here and there,
fighting through a pitiless rain of shot, through
carnage, with men falling like ninepins. No one
shall ever tell the whole of that story of almost mad
heroism — a heroism the full reward of which was
defeated by the leakage of information to spies.

There were spies everywhere. I myself encoun-
tered three of them one evening while lying in Mudros,
1 was on the bridge when three men were announced
asking to see me. I gave instructions for them to be
brought up.

All smiles and pleasant words, they came to me full
of friendly questionings. Had I been to Smyrna
lately ? Had I heard of Mr, So-and-so and how
was So-and-so ? They knew the names of men
I had met in Smyrna before the war. Of course they
were spies — German merchants in Smyrna of polished
and suave manners. But whatever information they
hoped to get they did not get. I saw that they were
taken to the head-quarters_ ship. I don’t know what
their fate was — short, I hope.

Saturday evening and, watching from the bridge,
I saw all beaches were in our hands with one excep-
tion. Here, from the River Clyde^ men had been

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mown down like corn before the reaping-machine.
Bravery, pluck beyond praise, was of no effect.
Even senior officers broke just because it was not
humanly possible to withstand the murderous fire.
It was a pity other officers did not have the inspiration
that was shown by one colonel. His battalion was
being towed ashore as arranged when he asked the
naval officer commanding just where the landing
position was to be. It was pointed out and the
soldier saw how heavily entrenched it was and the
enormous odds against him. Instantly he ordered
a change of venue. Another beach near by was
selected. There — further if inverse evidence of the
spies’ work — the enemy was not prepared. The
colonel got his men ashore with little loss and took
the position originally planned, from the flank.

It makes one wonder how different might have
been the outcome if secrecy had been maintained
and all landings had been at unexpected points.

In the main our men had been up against the
impossible and what they did accomplish was a
miracle. Yet those in authority had not realized
the enormity of the undertaking. Here is one little
sidelight that shows they thought the job was not
half the hazard it was. Just before the landing there
had been a conference of senior officers on one of the
battleships and it so chanced that several of them
came aboard my ship for lunch. They all began
talking of the plans that had been under discussion
— quite openly.

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“ Gentlemen,” I said, “ if you want to discuss
your plans. I’ll go,”

“ Oh, no, no, not at all,” was the general outcry.

So I stayed and listened.

Now I’m not a soldier, but one thing I gathered
from the general talk was that these men of the
Twenty-Ninth were going to attempt that landing
fully equipped even to the extent of carrying their
heavy packs on their backs. It seemed crazy to me.

“ Surely,” I interrupted, unable to hide my sur-
prise, “ the men are not going to carry their packs ! ”

“ Yes, that’s the order,” I was told.

“ But don’t you realize that many will doubtless
be shot down in the actual landing, not killed maybe,
but wounded. Those packs will be like millstones,”

“ That’s the order,” was the unequivocal reply.

And the men carried those packs and hundreds,
wounded, were drowned in water not a couple of feet
deep. Surely all freedom of action was necessary.
Supplies could easily have followed — if we had
become masters of the beaches.

And, as a mere spectator, so far as the combatant
tactics were concerned, I could never understand
why it was that when we had, at such a cost, won a
precarious hold on the enemy land, our men were
left there to fight it out. There were thousands of
troops remaining on board the many ships, yet days
went by before another wave was sent in support.
Why were a few thousand not landed on the very
night of the landing? I know that the Twenty-

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Ninth were the only regulars there and very likely
it was in the minds of the commanders that when
they had cleared the way the less-trained troops
should follow. But when disaster threatened so
heavily, surely any pre-arranged scheme should have
gone by the board and support at once sent to our
hard-pressed fellows.

Sunday evening I was ordered to Tenedos to bring
up a strong labour party. I was given a secret
signal to make on arrival. I made it, but apparently
it was too secret. No one took the slightest notice.
No reply ; neither did anyone come off to me. And
this was war ! At eight o’clock in the morning I
considered it was time I sent an officer on shore to
tap at their windows. It was noon when the boat
returned, and then I was informed that the labour
party would come aboard in the afternoon. Only
after many hours of impatient delay was I able to
get away and return to Cape Helles — to learn that
our men had been only just able to withstand the
enemy counter-attack on shore.

It had apparently been a narrow shave of being
driven back into the sea, and how they avoided that
calamity only the Twenty-Ninth and the Marines will
ever understand. And Heaven knows, they were
modest enough about it. I remember a day or two
later a few of them, officers and men, came aboard.

I knew them because I had brought them out. Now
they were wounded, needing treatment — they got it,
oh yes, and a good meal and a tub as well — and they

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asked me quite seriously whether the navy was satis-
fied with the way the army had done its job at the
first landing ! Satisfied ? I was dumb, and I am
dumb still, having no words to express my admiration.

Thousands killed, and now thousands wounded
were clamouring for attention. All hospital ships
full and still more wounded. The troopships were
requisitioned as temporary but unofficial hospitals.
They were called Black Carriers. They were.

Through these returning men we heard every
phase of the movements on land. The French had
taken and evacuated Kum Keli on the opposite side
of the Dardanelles — after destroying the guns and
emplacements, had been taken across and landed on
Gallipoli so that now it was one combined force.
The Anzacs were to the north on the western shore.
By luck they had landed a little farther than the
accurate information held by the enemy had fore-
shadowed, and so they had missed the worst of the
enemy’s fire and been able to take the Turks’ position
in the flank. Now our men were digging in.

What a time they had of it ! There was little
water for the first few days, food was had only at
irregular intervals, they were short of ammunition
— so short that the dead were robbed of it. Guns
and every blessed stick required had to be landed
from ships lying off Helles. I was sending large milk
cans ashore to store water — to get which pumping
stations had to be rigged up ; requests came off even
for mirrors to make periscopes. The men had abso-

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lutely ijothing and England was 3,000 miles away,
with no friendly countries near from which to draw
supplies. Egypt and Malta were our handiest bases,
and the former was none too secure.

When the sick and wounded did begin to arrive
they came by launch, trawler and tug, and all after-
noon, night and morning they came — two thousand
of them. It was no small task to turn a troopship
into a floating hospital at an hour’s notice. Our
ship’s surgeon was the only medical man on board
and there was not a single nursing sister or hospital
orderly — and the men were in dire need, many of
them coming straight from the trenches after only
the hurried treatment that could be given at a
crowded field-dressing station.

We requisitioned for much-needed conveniences
but were told we must do our best. We did. We
improvised beds, laying mattresses on sloping boards,
and used what medical stores we had — being a
Cunarder we carried a certain amount.

The surgeon organized a staff of hospital attendants
from the stewards. The purser was his chief aide
and the entire crew gave what time could be spared
from the duties of the ship. Many operations took
place under these difficult conditions, the purser
acting as anesthetist. So we went to Alexandria.

It was some time afterwards that I learned through-
out all that time when we and other ships were
making dire shift to accommodate and attend to the
wounded, a vessel had been lying a few miles out in

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the bay loaded with all manner of medical requisites.
It was ten days before someone in authority remem-
bered her existence !

At Alexandria I requested proper medical assist-
ance and nurses and several army medical officers
and sisters were attached to the ship thenceforward.

On the way I had painted red crosses on a white
ground on the ship’s side and made a red-cross flag
to fly at the fore. I did not imagine these would
be the slightest use actually, but you would hardly
credit the psychological effect the signs had on the
wounded ; it gave them a feeling of security.

On one voyage from Gallipoli to Alexandria we
passed the Royal Edward goingm the opposite direction
and carrying troops to the peninsula. Imagine my
astonishment when two days later in Alexandria I
was talking to the M.O. and others by the purser’s
office when the latter informed me that the purser of
the Royal Edward vras in his office. Would I like to see
him ? I went in and asked him how they had
managed to make such a quick return. To my horror
he told me that the Royal Edward had been torpedoed
an hour after passing us and only about 400 men
out of the 1,600 on board had been saved. He
himself had been picked up by another troopship
returning to Alexandria. It was war, both on land
and sea.

After two months’ knocking about between Gal-
lipoli, Alexandria and Mudros carrying wounded,
stores and so on, I was ordered home. The ship

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was full of wounded and sick, hundreds of them
“ cot ” cases, and about tw'o thousand in all. By
now we had become quite settled down as a Black
Carrier and once again, in Mudros, I had the red
cross on the ship’s sides and the flag at the fore.
The Naval Transport Officer assured me — ^what I
really knew — that such precautions were useless ;
we should receive no consideration thereby at the
hands of enemy submarines, but I had received
evidence of the moral good it had upon the wounded.

He said no more. But on arriving at Malta I was
ordered to paint out the red crosses and haul down the
flag.

Consternation at once among the wounded, but I
had no choice other than to obey. The medical
officer came to me later and said painting out the
crosses had produced very ill effects in a number of
cases and couldn’t I get permission to retain them ?

“ No,” I answered, and gave him a good solid
stare and a very perceptible wink. “ But we shall
be at sea in a few hours and out of sight of land,”
I added, and before dark the crosses were painted in
again and the Red Cross flag was flying.

But my little schemes were all upset at Gibraltar.
Here we had to take on board 120 bluejackets who
were returning to England. These were perfectly
fit combatants and so away went the red crosses,
down came the Red Cross flag — and up went the
temperatures of the wounded. Still we were nearing
home ; that was something. And at last they were

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disembarked, safe, if, alas, not sound some of them,
at Southampton.

I was back in the Eastern Mediterranean when that
second landing on Gallipoli was undertaken. How
different it was from the first ! Nobody knew any-
thing. Instead of advertising just where each batta-
lion was to be expected, the enemy must have been
in the dark just because every man, save the highest
officers, had no idea even the night before at what
point they were to make their attempt.

CHAPTER VII

SIDELIGHTS ON “THE SHOW”

A n entire army asked one question as soon as it
was known there was to be a new landing.
That question was : “ Where ? ” It dominated

everything else. With memories of those tragic
beaches clear in mind, either by actual experience or
from very first-hand information, they wondered,
these fine fellows who were to make that second
attempt, whether the Powers-that-be had some differr
ent plan to try. Was it to be the old spots ? Were
they to be thrown into the face of ready-placed guns,
or this time were the spies to be outwitted and so
afford some real chance of success ?

No one was allowed to know. The secret was
wonderfully kept. But, one remembers the saying
that it is pretty useless locking the stable door after
the horse has got out. If only this admirable secrecy
had been maintained before the first landing . . ,
There was a colonel actually leaving my ship to
go by tender to lead his men ashore — as near to
the zero hour as that. He had no hint as to
where he was going to land. He asked me if I
knew.

“ No,” I told him, for, of course, I was as much

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in the dark as anyone ; naturally, it was no concern
of mine.

Just as he left, however, it so happened a messenger
informed me that a captain was in my cabin. I went
to him and he turned out to be the skipper of the
tender that lay alongside, waiting to take the troops.
After greetings I ventured to ask :

“ Do you know where these men are landing ? ”

He looked round mysteriously. His glance asked
if there was any likelihood of anyone listening. I
shook my head smilingly.

“ May I show you in your chart-room ? ”

“ Ye.s.”

He did, and so as I watched the men leave entirely
in the dark as to where they were going, even their own
colonel, I had the knowledge, but, of course, could
not impart it. “ Suvla Bay ” I could have told
them — Suvla with its heroic story, its tempestuous
struggle ; Suvla that will live in history, though that
morning it was a name practically unknown to the
world.

I did not see that landing. Overnight I was ordered
off to Mudros taking wounded — always wounded ! —
and so to England.

To me, very largely, memories of the War are
memories of wounded. That perhaps is why that old
parrot cry of making England a country fit for heroes
to live in rings in my mind to-day with cynical
insistence. I think of them with their brave eyes —
and I look about England to-day with its two and a

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SIDELIGHTS ON ” THE SHOW ”

half million of unemployed. How can I resist the
comparison ? If you had spent the long tormented
hours I did with the men who were broken in the
conflict, you, too, would wonder how it is those who
guide the destinies of this country have failed so
dismally in their duties to the sufferers. Was it all
only easily-compiled catch-phrasing ? Was it all done
for the sake of the placemen at home who talked but
did not fight ? It makes one despair of the politi-
cians ; it makes one think they are fiery-tongued
instead of sympathetic, using common sense and
understanding to mend the sickness of the land. To
them, as alas ! to many superior officers, it was all a
” show ” ; rather a game — and often a struggle for
decoration and promotion.

On two occasions I chanced to hear of officers in
charge of bags containing decorations. The first was
ofif Gallipoli and one was a little impressed realizing
that, amid the holocaust of that campaign, organization
was sufficiently embracing to assure the presence out
there of these rewards. I thought of the men freezing,
baking, starved, soaked, putting up their gallant show
on those shores of death, and it is to be feared the
proportion of decorations that went ashore and those
that remained at head-quarters afloat was hardly a fair
criterion of valour. The same fact was noticeably in'
evidence in the second case— that of a bag of decora-
tions sent by the French for distribution among the
troops in Salonica.

Not that the fighting men worried j the vast

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majority of them, I am sure, never thought of reward
or of wounds.

Often and often I noticed on the many trips I made
home with wounded from the East that, wherever a
man lay with lost leg or arm, he was usually the centre
of the highest spirits. They were going home, what
did a limb matter ? Home — ^it was Mecca to them.
Where are they now, some of them ? Looking for the
job that is always round the corner.

The Navy had a habit of thought — that it was their
show. They felt the interference of others was irk-
some, even though that “ interference ” was necessary
to their existence. I am thinking naturally of my own
service. They definitely looked on us as inferiors. I
have seen master mariners sitting in an outer office of
the Naval Transport Offices waiting for orders as
meekly as panel patients in a consulting-room. These
captains of ships were waiting to carry thousands of
troops or stores to the scene of operation, yet they had
to sit there pending the convenience of some official.
Some of us adopted the method of saying :

“ If So-and-so is engaged, I shall be at . . . Please
send and inform me when he is at liberty.”

It was all so unnecessary. Only towards the end of
hostilities did the Navy wake up to the fact that we
knew our business far better than they knew it. I am
not saying a word here about naval operations, please
understand. On the contrary, I yield to none in my
admiration of their fighting qualities, but their experi-
ence did not include the running of a big liner with

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SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

all its complicated organization. And if ever such an
emergency arises again when England has to mobilize
her resources for defence, I hope the authorities have
learned sufficient to take the Merchant Service into
their confidence and regard it as a very necessary and
honourable adjunct to the other services.

When the first of the big merchant ships, the
Olympic, was commissioned — that is, became an
auxiliary cruiser mounting six guns — the Admiralty,
we heard, wanted to put one of their officers in com-
mand, the ship’s captain being subservient to him and
becoming merely navigating officer. The captain of
the Olympic objected, and I am glad to say that he
was eventually upheld in his attitude. When the
Mauretania was commissioned no question was raised,
and I remained in charge. Incidentally I believe I
am correct in saying that I am the only captain who
sailed under all the four ensigns — the White of the
Royal Navy, the Red of the Merchant Service, the
Blue of the R.N.R. and the Admiralty of the hospital
ships.

There were many dug-out naval officers in charge
of Transport and Harbour Offices and, being asked
to do jobs for which they were not trained, it was only
to be expected they would make a mess of them.

A great amount of friction and bad feeling was
caused through unnecessary arrogance in the Trans-
port Offices. An old officer would be dug out and put
in control. Within a few minutes of donning his
uniform, up would go his eye-glass, and from that

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instant all civilian service would be subordinate to his
own importance.

But neither service could exist without the other.
Each is the complement of the other in war and peace.
And was it not the Merchant Navy that gave birth
to the Royal Navy? Many of the old sea captains
of renown were essentially merchant-men, gentlemen
adventurers who fought their sea fights in extending
this empire of ours. It was these men who held their
Letters of Marque, giving them power to fight and
exact reprisals against foreign foes. Not that the
merchant navy during the war desired to share in navy
strategy or operations ; of course not. But they did
justify more friendly consideration. For instance, a
set of pains and penalties that would befall a master if
he ignored certain orders was published in the public
press. Wouldn’t it have been better if it had been
pointed out sympathetically the reason for such orders
with a request for co-operation ? And as to our own
end of the business, they did not possess the necessary
knowledge to control our work. To mention only one
thing, They had no conception of what demurrage
meant. It was pitiful to see the ships — dozens of them
— ^l^nng up in Alexandria when they were urgently
needed at home for trooping.

They didn’t seem to worry about waste, either of
material or of time. If a ship went East, there it
remained until someone back in Whitehall remem-
bered it and sent orders for its further occupation.
Often that someone forgot the ship for weeks — prob-

IIO

SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

ably wondered whether it was still afloat if he thought
of it at all. Anyhow, there the ship lay and its oflicers
loitered, waiting. Everything was done by order —
that is the naval mind, naturally enough ; everything
must radiate from the Admiralty which was a sort of
centre of some huge web. If one of the threads broke
the ship at the other end of it was as good as a derelict.

The congestion of shipping out East indeed grew
so serious that certain people at home gradually
became alarmed at the state of affairs, and this
resulted in a commission being sent out to look into
the question on the spot. It was headed by a pro-
minent shipping magnate, who was armed with full
powers to act and see that idle ships got released
and were sent to carry out the work for which
they were intended.

The congestion soon ended.

The whole campaign in Gallipoli, as far as I could
see it, was an example of weak organization. Wastage
everywhere. If a lighter was filled with supplies for
shore and, as was the case not infrequently, it was
badly loaded, over it went. It didn’t matter. There
were other lighters and more supplies — that seemed
to be the prevailing notion.

I feel very keenly about this matter. To a man
trained as we are trained to waste nothing and
especially time, to be up to the minute because, if one
is not, a rival is going to score — ^which is simply apply-
ing ordinary business efficiency to the job of running
ships — ^it was irritating to see the lack of method that

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grew up under the inefficient emergency control. I
maintain that the Merchant Navy — and the service is
grateful to the King for giving it that title — should be
incorporated in the active services and not left in the
lurch as it was during the war. Germany was far too
wise to adopt such water-tight methods. Every
enemy skipper in the world knew all about the out-
break of war ; before they left their home ports they
were taken into the Government’s confidence and
many liners were carrying guns and ammunition
before the actual declaration of war.

Not only the navy, the army also were inclined to
place too small an importance on the merchant ships
of England. One night in my cabin off Salonica
several army officers were dining with me. While we
were talking there, news came that a i2,ooo-ton
vessel, the Caledonian, of the Anchor Line 'had been
torpedoed out in the Mediterranean. Granted at that
time it was no uncommon thing ; indeed, it was to
our view becoming a dangerously regular proceeding ;
not, you understand, because entirely of the loss of
sailors’ lives, though that was equally a matter of war
casualties, but because, with more than one ship being
lost every day, things were getting a bit desperate.
But one colonel in my cabin that night pooh-poohed
the disaster.

“ Only a merchant ship,” he said scoffingly.
“ That doesn’t matter,” and dismissed the event as
though it should not interfere with our bright
conversation.

II2

SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

“ What do you mean ? ” I put in. " Doesn’t
matter ? ” I’m afraid I showed a bit huffy.

“ Of course to you, well yes, it’s up your street,
so to speak. But I was thinking of the campaign in
the big sense. That ship was not a fighting ship and
it’s the fighting units that count.”

I turned to him a surprised and, I dare say, con-
demning face.

“ Who brought you here ? ” I asked him. “ Who
brought those men fighting on the peninsula ? Who
carried their supplies, fed them on the route out ?
What would you do with your wounded if there were
no merchant ships ? Drown ’em ? ”

I hope he saw — I think he did — that we were a very
necessary cog in the big wheel, so vital a cog, indeed,
that the wheel would have jammed if all our shipping
had been put out of action.

That is why I say there must be a scheme of in-
corporation if ever again — ^which God forbid ! — Eng-
land should be engaged in a iife-and-death struggle.
And can we, however our hopes may lie, shut our
eyes to the possibility ? Not when there is the shadow
of Russia lengthening across the globe. They are
civilization’s enemies, and I for one hate to see this
country having any dealings with them. Our politi-
cians helped them once when they were no longer our
allies — I refer to that disastrous venture to Archangel,
done perhaps to restore the monarchy, in which
millions of money and thousands of lives were
sacrificed for nothing. They are surely less our friends

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to-day with their indented labour and dumped mer-
chandise keeping our own men out of jobs. Their
soiled fingers are feeling into every country. Italy has
told them to keep clear, France will have nothing to
do with them, and America is bucking at their com-
pulsory labour. Those are good examples for us.
But this is a digression, used only by way of illustra-
tion to show that the world is not so much at peace
that we can afford to ignore the possibilities of a
future when we must again be ready. And should
that moment break, it is looking at things only
frozn my own angle as a master mariner to express
the fervent hope that those of my own profession
will find a more ready sympathy, a more eager hand
held out to them to co-operate in the job that will
face us.

I could quote a hundred instances of how the
mercantile marine was looked upon as an inferior
service, and I hope our record in the War has assured
our men of no similar treatment in the future. Look-
ing back now, it is difficult to realize the point of view.
Which reminds me of a slight contretemps that took
place in my cabin once when H.M.S. Mauretania was in
New York. We were bringing troops to England. The
evening before sailing the general staff came aboard,
and over dinner the general happened to remark upon
possible dangers of the crossing. If an eventuality
arose he announced his intention of adopting certain
methods.

“ That’s up to me,” I told him.

SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

He looked as though I had offended his dignity,
and intimated that he was in command.

“ Of the troops yes,” I acceded, “ but not of the
ship. If you look you will find we wear the White
Ensign.”

I wouldn’t dream of interfering with the military
organization, neither would I let him interfere with
the ship’s management. But there it was ; I think
he regarded the vessel as a sort of colossal taxi and its
commander as its chauffeur !

But I am pleased to say that was the only occasion
that I personally ever had to insist on my authority
as commanding officer of my ship. And I must point
out in this connexion that the general in question
was prompted by America’s practice of putting a
troopship under the command of the senior military
officer for all purposes save that of navigation.

It took two and a half years of the late war for the
Admiralty to realize we knew our job ; they should
start next time right at the word “ go,” regarding us
as a branch concern — partners, as indispensable as
transport and communications are to the army.

While on this subject I am reminded that once in
New York there were those who sought to impose their
limited ideas on me. I would ask you to bear in mind
that altogether I carried over one hundred thousand
troops during the war with the loss of only one man,
who shot himself. I was jealous of my record,
tremendously glad of it and, if I may add, put much
of it down to what I called at the outset my belief that

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there is a divinity that shapes our ends. Well, on this
occasion we were bringing over the vanguard of the
American Army. And I must interpolate here, in case
the opportunity does not recur, what a splendid lot of
fellows they were, officers and men. On one oceasion —
in 1917 in the Saxonia when erossing from New York —
four American generals were in my cabin. Were they
of the type, as many a Britisher is apt to picture them,
who ” swanked,” intimating that they were about to
finish our little war for us ? Certainly not ; the very
reverse. Those four generals said to me ; “ We are
as schoolboys in this business ; we are coming over
wanting to learn this new art of warfare from your
fellows who have the experience.” They knew ; they
understood the sort of fighting ahead of them was not
to be learned in the textbooks. All they brought be-
yond what those textbooks had taught them was an un-
bounded energy, enthusiasm and willingness to learn.

These were the men I was to carry that voyage.
They were all on board when the Chief Engineer came
to me with the report that our steering-gear had gone
back on us. It had been carried away !

“ All right, I’ll get in touch with the proper authori-
ties,” I told him. It was nearly six o’clock then and we
were due to sail at 6.30. I at once informed the senior
naval officer that we could not proceed.

“ You’ll have to go,” he said. “ You’ve got
emergency steering-gear, haven’t you ? ”

“ That is not good enough for me to cross the
Atlantic with,” I said.

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SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

“ You must sailj” was his reply.

“ Give it me in writing,” I demanded.

“ You must sail,” he answered stubbornly.

“ Very well ; give me a cruiser and two destroyers
to escort me over — or your sailing orders in writing.”

“ Nonsense.”

“ Then we stay here pending repairs.”

“ We’ll get the best experts in New York to look the
gear over.” And down they went and made their
examination.

“ We consider the emergency steering-gear quite
sufficient,” was their verdict.

“ Will you guarantee that it will carry me to Eng-
land ? ” I asked them.

“ No,” they admitted.

“ Then I shall not go.” And I didn’t.

It took eight days to make the repairs. The troops
were dispatched in other ships, and, mind you, if there
had been no other ships and no one but myself to rely
on, I might have been more inclined to take the risk,
for, after all, it was war-time. But it was not necessary
to run what I considered a grave risk with thousands
of men on board — they were in my care ; there was
only my experienced view between them and possible
disaster.

We got away at length. The day before sailing the
Superintendent came on board and said : “ I want
you to try that emergency steering-gear.”

I’m going to,” I assured him. " I intend to run
it from the dock side until we get to sea.”

HOME FROM THE SEA

But we had not reached quarantine when it
jammed !

There was a lot of fog about and we had to come to
an anchor. We were in narrow waters and it took a
certain amount of time to change over. Anything
might have happened in that fog. The conditions
lasted, too, until we were well out to sea. Then we
started to repair that emergency gear.

When it was finished we were just entering the
Mersey ! Jove, but I was glad I had held out and
not risked it.

Passengers to-day may not know that a Gunarder
never leaves a harbour without everything essential
being thoroughly tested. It was during the test that
day in New York that the gear was carried away.
Whistles, telephones, lights, as well as the engine-room
contrivances — everything is thoroughly tried out.

There are times, even then, when things go wrong.
It was so cold once in New York harbour that we
found we couldn’t blow the ship’s whistle. The
valves were frozen in the blizzard that was blowing.
I think that was the occasion when I was unable to
return the signal of one of our patrol ships who were
on look-out for German vessels leaving New York
before America came in. I couldn’t make a sign.
The weather was so bad the Morse lamp fused ; we
tried the binnacle lamp ; that failed. The whistle
wouldn’t sound and there we were, mute, while the
naval ship’s searchlight lay on us inquiringly. How-
ever, he didn’t open fire, recognizing us, and later

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SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW ”

round in Halifax I made my apologies and explana-
tions. So I was not shot for non-compliance with
orders !

They were, of course, strenuous days for us as for
every one else. It was in the Saxonia just before the
time America came in that I spent the longest period
of my career on the bridge. We left New York one
Thursday, and there was dense fog all the way to
Halifax, where we arrived on Monday afternoon.
That was a pretty long spell, three and a half days
of strained attention with never a break. At Halifax,
after coming to an anchor, the captain of the escort
cruiser came on board.

" When can you leave ? ” he asked.

“ Give me an hour and a half,” I replied, and he
said ; “ All right, signal when you are ready.”

Never was a bath more enjoyed — it was the height
of luxury. I had a civilized lunch, got into fresh
clothes and when the ninety minutes had elapsed I
sent my signal.

“ Carry out previous orders,” came back, and we
weighed anchor.

With the exception of that break I never left the
bridge for eight days, the chief reason being that we
were adopting the method of zigzagging, and that was
the first time it had been done in convoy. It meant
a lot of complicated signalling and station keeping and
I thought it was my job to see it through. This was
in 1917.

But to return to the Mediterranean. Later on I

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was to take the Mauretania out there as a full-fledged
hospital ship, but meanwhile the Alaunia was bringing
the wounded back in their thousands. The second
landing seemed to supply as many as the first and some
of the cases were very pitiful, just as it cheered one’s
heart to see fellows all broken who made light of their
troubles and smiled through.

They were full of stories. One I remember con-
cerned the Anzacs. The latter had literally fallen
agape one day when along their lines came an appari-
tion in the shape of a gorgeous youth who looked to
be straight out of Oxford and dressed up as for a stage
part. There was no dirt on his uniform and he wore
his red-banded cap at a rakish angle. His boots were
speckless and in his eye was a monocle !

The colonials took this as something sent by the little
gods of mischief for their especial delight.

“ Haw haw, beastly mornin’, wot ? ” they cried
after him, and more pointed remarks inferring, as an
instance, their inquisitiveness as to whether his ” Ma ”
knew he was out.

The staff ornament took not the slightest notice.

“ Say, Clarence, d’you know there’s a war on ? ”

Still no notice rewarded them, but they did not
mean to be beaten by sheer indifference, however well
the pose — ^if it were a pose — ^was maintained.

They dropped everything and lined the road and
down the avenue of smirking faces the officer strolled.
They had stuck identity discs in their eyes and circled
thumb and forefinger over them in imitation of

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SIDELIGHTS ON “ THE SHOW

monocles and “ haw-hawed ” and generally made
fun. When the officer had run the gauntlet to the
end he stopped, seeming to notice this parade of
ridicule for the first time. His steady eye ran them
over from behind its glass.

“ You fellows think you’re mighty smart,” he said
in unruffled voice. “ Then see if you can do this,”
And he took the monocle from its place, threw it up
in the air and caught it in his eye again. They
gasped ; the officer turned quietly, and as he walked
away they gave him a rousing cheer.

One of the sad cases brings to mind the picture of
a fellow who never spoke, who went about as in some
dream, his head always down on his chest, his eyes
vacant. He was a shell-shock case and there was only
one person on board who could do anything with him.
That person was his nurse. He was a very fine
musician and whenever there was a concert on board
he was something of a star turn. But he never
realized what he did. When the men wanted him to
perform, that gentle nurse of his would just lay her
hand on his shoulder and guide him to the piano. It
almost seemed as though some telepathic current of
thought passed between them, for under her unspoken
suasion he would sit at the instrument and play
divinely. Even while thus engaged he seemed entirely
lost to his surroundings and just went on until the
nurse touched him again. Then he stopped, his head
went down as if tired and he rose at her wordless
bidding and returned into the mental mists wherein

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he lived. When in harbour I witnessed his perform-
ances. I shall never forget his eyes. They had looked
on the awfulness that was Gallipoli.

I always thought what a vivid glare of truth shot
into the absurdity of war when I saw the wounded
enemy. We did not see many ; there were not many
prisoners on my ship. One Tui'k was brought once,
and it was pathetic to look at him. He was in
wretched shape and was suffering from some very
grievous wound ; we did not know what at first. He
lay on the deck unable to speak, too ill indeed to
speak, and some of our men went to him and offered
cigarettes. He took them ; enmity was over ; there
is a common feeling in common wounds.

When at last the doctor arrived and examined him
we knew the poor man had no chance. They tried
their best to set him right and that necessitated the
amputation of a leg that had become gangrenous. He
died in a few hours and we were faced with the
Turkish religious belief that at all hazard a man’s
whole body must be buried in one place. So he
followed that severed leg of his — overboard.

The few Turkish prisoners that were brought
generally had English gold on them and it made one
wonder whether that small wealth had not once
belonged to our own men. Thus we got peeps of the
horror. It was an awful mess, and we knew that
our fellows were on land without maps, and at times
in such confusion that it was not an unknown thing
for our own guns to fire on them.

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CHAPTER VIII

H.M.H.S. MAURETANIA

I SHALL never forget the day I took over the
Mauretania — the famous flyer I was to command
for eleven years and which was to create, while under
my command, the record for the Atlantic run and
keep the Blue Riband for so long.

That day was in September, 1915. I was in Liver-
pool and received orders to take her over on her
arrival. She didn’t put in for a week, having had a
bad time in the Mediterranean. When she entered
the Mersey I was on the dock and waited while a
tender brought her captain ashore. We met on the
landing-stage. He had been advised that I was
succeeding him, and after greetings he waved a hand
to the ship out in the river and just remarked, " There
she is ; take her,” as though he were handing me
a large-sized packet of trouble. I couldn’t help laugh-
ing aloud. But I was proud to have her, though not
then guessing how great a part of my life she was
destined to become.

When I went aboard her the next day I found she was
being fitted out as a hospital ship — the pukka thing ;
no eyewashing or winking necessary. I admit withal
that I had a slight feeling of disappointment. We

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were not then tired of the chase — of the excitement of
wondering whether we should get through or this time
have a tin fish in our sides. One naturally imagined
a hospital ship was immune from attack. The thrills
were to come, however.

We left Liverpool with a full medical staff and the
ship transformed into as fine a hospital as you could
find anywhere on shore. Very different from the
days when we were Black Carriers. Now we had
forty medical officers, seventy-two nursing sisters and
a hundred and twenty orderlies (later about one
hundred and fifty), all thoroughly trained. No im-
provised accommodation for suffering men and no
scratch supplies for dealing with difficult operations.
Here were beautifully-fitted operating theatres. X-ray
rooms, real hospital wards and every single thing in
the way of appliance that ingenuity could devise.

Instead of proceeding in complete darkness we were
a blaze of light with a row of green lamps all round
the ship and illuminated red crosses amidships at
night-time. The old Black Carriers were painted
black, the Mauretania was now a spotless white save
for one broad green band round the hull and the
yellow of the funnels. The Red Cross flags flew from
the masthead for all the world to see. We were
carrying wounded men and doing nothing else and,
in view of what happened later, I want to say here as
clearly as it is possible to put it into print that never
once did we in the merest detail depart from the strict
letter of the law. We never carried combatants, never

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conveyed abroad any sort of material other than
medical supplies.

Yet at the end of 1915 the enemy decided to sink all
ships at sight, including hospital ships.

It was wanton murder, and I don’t know any
particular form of frightfulness adopted by them that
was more revolting. They gave an excuse, of course.
They said we were carrying combatants and com-
batant stores. We were not — take that from me as the
literal truth down to its minutest meaning ! It is
being kind to assume that the enemy confused the
pukka hospital ships with the Black Carriers, but even
there I assure every reader, whatever his nationality,
that the Black Carriers of which I had charge never
pretended to be what they were not. True, at times,
I had red crosses painted on the sides and flew a Red
Cross flag, but only when we carried wounded and no
one else. If we had a mere half-dozen combatant
troops on board, the red crosses came out and the flag
was lowered. Of course it was mere idle excuse for
the enemy to pretend ships like the Mauretania were
taking any sort of part in hostilities. We were a
floating hospital, pure and simple.

We even tried to convince — and indeed must have
convinced — the enemy that we were only going about
on our lawful occasions.

We always had to call at Naples (Italy had not then
come in) to coal, and on one occasion it was decided
to invite all the enemy consuls and acting consuls on
board to examine us. They came to dinner and I

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threw the entire ship open to them. Every man on
board was paraded for inspection ; packages and bales
were opened to let our guests see we carried only
medical stores. I told them they could go anywhere
about the ship they liked and ask any question of any
body. They all declared they were satisfied that we
were no more than what we purported to be and stated
they would forward reports to their headquarters.

But a little later the huge Britannic was sunk in the
Mgean, and she was a hospital ship and nothing else,
just as we were.

They knew all right. They were quite aware their
reason was an excuse. They understood we were only
carrying wounded. What they aimed at hospital
ships for was just because quite conceivably some of
the wounded they took home would get well again
and once more become part of the fighting army
against them. Or even worse — merely to strike terror
into the civilian population prompting an eagerness
for peace.

Still we did not run the risk of being mistaken as
once we were as a Black Carrier. One time we left
Mudros late, after dark. Going through the Zea
Channel in the iEgean, we passed close to one of our
own ships. I afterwards heard that as they sighted
us it was touch and go whether they opened fire on
us or not. The “ not ” won, for which praise be,
not only for us in the Alaunia — that was the vessel —
but also for the other ship. There would have been
a pretty song if they had sunk us !

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The day of sailing from Mudros was always a very
busy and exacting time. Numerous military medical
officers— of high and lesser degree — would be on board
to assure themselves all arrangements w'ere satisfactory,
others seeing off departing colleagues. On one
occasion I had left my berth and was streaming down
the harbour when tw'o officers asked permission to
speak to me. Permission granted, they coolly re-
quested that they be put on shore as they had only
come off to say good-bye to some sick and wounded
brother officers ! Too late. I gave my apologies and
reminded them that I hadn’t any convenience for
putting them on shore, and should we not be able to
get the vessel on patrol duty outside the harbour
to come alongside I assured them they would be taken
to England.

I fancy they had a nervous spell and I thought it
rather served them right. Their notions of discipline
would do with a jog. They had received all necessary
warning to leave, but evidently expected the ship to
wait their convenience. However, we were able to
signal the patrol vessel to come alongside and so they
got back to their duties.

The Mauretania continued to evacuate the sick and
wounded until February, 1916, by which time Gal-
lipoli was a thing of the past. Kitchener had been out
and decided on the evacuation. Maybe there would
have been a different story if he had been out a year
previously and organized the landing !

We brought the last lot home, and I recollect one

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outstanding figure among that crowd. He was a
colonel, and ten months before he had landed off my
ship — the Alaunia. He was then a captain in the
South Wales Borderers, a fine, well-set-up, typical
military officer. What a change in him when he
came back ! He had been on the peninsula through
the whole terrible performance, from start to finish.
I didn’t recognize him. Months of constant struggle,
fatigue, fighting, hunger, thirst, sand-flies and other
wild beasts of smaller dimensions, the shock of con-
stant thunderous noise, not to mention the loss of
practically all his colleagues, had entirely changed
him. When a man sick, hollow-cheeked, weary men-
tally and physically, came to me and handed me a
card, I just couldn’t believe it was the same officer
I had said good-bye to the night before that first
landing. You can be sure he had every comfort and
attention the ship could provide.

It was a happy ship. I used to go the rounds some-
times with Colonel Frank Brown, R.A.M.C., the
medical commanding officer, and was always amazed
at the cheeriness of even those who were in most
wretched plight. Disablement, pain, misery, seemed
outside their consideration ; the only thing that
occupied their minds was that they were going home
— home to Bhghty and all that Blighty meant. What
do some of them think to-day ? They stuck it to the
dregs and they heard the grandiloquent promises of
security and peace and happiness. Pitiful must have
been the disappointment to thousands, and I, for

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H.M.S. Mauretania in 191S, camouflaged

H.M.H.S. MAURETANIA

one, thinking of the future, find my chief comfort in
remembering those men who kept the flag flying from
igi4toigr8 and thinking England can never die while
she produces such fellows.

The staff on board was just as wonderful in its way.
Often have I seen during bad weather nurses attacked
by mal de iner dart away and as quickly rush back
to their wai’ds to carry on. Those women gave of
their best, prepared to risk all in playing their part
in the upheaval. They had their reward in seeing
some wonderful recoveries on board. Stretcher
" cases ” were often so benefited by the voyage and
the care taken of them that they were up and walking
the decks by the time we arrived in Southampton.

By the way, I took the Mauretania up the Dardanelles
to Constantinople, past Cape Helles, close to the
shores of Gallipoli, in 1924 while on a cruise from New
York round the Mediterranean. It was interesting to
see the change. True, there were the wrecked forts,
and one or two sunken vessels, but for the rest all was
peace and the government of nature was once again
supreme. But several “ areas ” were seen “ Sacred
to the memory of . , .” and one’s thoughts went
back to it all.

We paid off the Mauretania on March i, igi6, and
the ship lay at the Cunard buoy in the Sloyne, River
Mersey, quietly swinging round to the tide.

For the time being there seemed no chance of her
proceeding to sea again, and I took over the hernia^
trooping to the Mediterranean, a busy year with a few

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excitements. Through a fog one day we spied the
periscope of an enemy submarine and he had a pot
at us. We saw the torpedo break the surface, but the
visibility being bad evidently saved us. Just a breath-
less minute, and we knew the projectile had lost itself
somewhere. Then the fog closed in again and we
went on our way to Salonica. That was our run all
the year — Marseilles, Malta, Alexandria, Salonica.
And it was from the latter head-quarters I was able
to get my first peep at land wmcfare.

We were at the time being held as a sort of stand-by
ship ready to rush troops and stores by sea to any
“ appointed place,” and while there I was able to
make a visit to the front on our Eastern flank. I went
round the whole of the Brigade’s lines, lunching in a
front-line mess. It was close to the Saar, and the
Bulgarians were a mile across on the other side while
from the sea my old ship the Grafton was spitting
occasional fire from her g-a’s.

They laughed at me in that mess. A hash made
with bully beef was served and my plate brought back
to me memories of young days in sailing ships. I had
a fleeting picture of the old Cedric and the Redgauntlet
when to us boys the sort of meal before me here
marked then a red-letter day. I ate the stuff with
relish and, when it was finished ; " Have another
serving ? ” queried the Brigadier. There was a smile
about his lips, but it changed into surprise— a surprise
shared by all the mess when I answered ; “Yes,
rather — thanks.” Of course they were pretty sick of

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the sight of the dish which to me was an interesting
novelty.

Next day I did one of the things I had wanted to
do for a long time — went round the front lines and
saw our men in action. I was so enthusiastic that one
of the colonels pressed me to outstay the leave I had
in order to witness a “ little show ” that he was
staging on the morrow. I wondered then, and I
wonder now, whether he was preparing the attack
he spoke of as a sort of private performance for my
benefit, but anyhow I had to get back to my ship —
about a forty-mile motor-run.

It was during that time in Salonica that I was able
to satisfy another “ wanted to do ” I had long enter-
tained — to witness in a submerged submarine the
firing of a torpedo and note its movements through the
periscope. It was fascinating to be the right end of a
tin fish when for months I had been a possible target.

In the bay there was another Cunarder at the time.
The captain, surgeon and purser were old friends and
we had opportunities for a chat before they left for
home. A day after they had sailed I was in my cabin
during the afternoon when my old friend the purser
came in.

“ Great Scot, when did you arrive ? ” I cried.

“ An hour ago,” he replied.

“ I didn’t see you come in. Where are you
lying ? ”

“ At the bottom,” he said a little solemnly. “ We
were torpedoed.”

HOME FROM THE SEA

All over the Mediterranean those sort of tragic
episodes were of daily occurrence ; on other seas, too.
Another occasion comes to mind. It was when, later,
I was in the Carmania. That would be in January of
1918. I was taking her to New York and after leaving
Liverpool we picked up the Aurania, the latest Cunard
vessel and not long before under my command. She,
too, was bound for America with a few passengers
and details.

It was a fine Sunday afternoon off the north coast
of Ireland and we were both zigzagging, for enemy
submarines were often in that vicinity, because we
adopted it for the New York run. We soon left the
Aurania astern ; she was making a different course
from ours and keeping nearer to the coast. The
following Sunday we arrived in New York and I
reported passing the Aurania off the north coast of
Ireland and added that she might be expected in the
harbour the following morning. A look of astonish-
ment passed over the face of the officials,

“ Don’t you know ; haven’t you heard ? ” one
asked.

“ Heard what ? ”

“ The Aurania was torpedoed last Sunday evening.”

It must have been within an hour or so of my seeing
the last of her as she dropped astern. The fortune
of war indeed — one vessel gone to the bottom, the
other only a few miles away escaping, not even know-
ing, and still doing excellent work to-day.

We knocked about the Mediterranean all 1916

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conveying troops, among them many Australians and
New Zealanders. And speaking of those colonials I
remember one voyage when in Alexandria w'e took
both on board and it was interesting to see them.
There were two battalions and they had been rushed
from the sandy desert, marching for three days in a
broiling sun. They were just whacked when they
got on board, so tired out that they dropped as it were
in their tracks, flopped on the deck and were immedi-
atelyf lost to the world, huddled every'where. You’d
think some blight had passed over the ship and laid
them all out. Only for a few hours. Then a hefty
meal and the cool sea air revived them and the next
day they were as fine a body of men any commanding
officer could wish to have under him. At Marseilles
they'' left us for somewhere on the Western Front.

Meanwhile the Mauretania still swung at her buoy
in the Mersey and on leaving the south it was decided
I should take her up to the Tail of the Bank in the
Clyde for greater safety.

Now it is no simple thing to handle a vessel the size
of the big modern liners in narrow waters, and I often
wonder whether shore people and passengers realize
that fact. Fm sure thcy'^ don’t. I have heard them
on board complaining as -we have come to anchor in
thick weather and they have seen smaller vessels nose
their way into port. These latter of course can swing
about quickly in comparatively small space ; a big
ship is very like a great lorry manoeuvring in a country
lane. Liners like the Majestic and the Berengaria need

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most delicate handling coming into port, especially
when the channel has an S-shape as at Southampton
and the weather is unpropitious. And should any,
even slight, disaster befall, the position can very
quickly develop towards the danger line.

A disaster befell the Mauretania when I set out to take
her to the Clyde. It almost seemed that the ship
resented leaving Liverpool.

The day was by no means promising ; a south-
easterly gale was making up and strong tides running.
However, we slipped from our buoy in the Mersey
during the afternoon and, dropping down river,
anchored, waiting for darkness and the flood-tide.

At about 7 p.m. we were in the act of weighing
the port anchor when the cable parted. It was a
serious situation, for, the ship not being in a favourable
position, we were unable to utilize our starboard
anchor. The pilot attempted to turn the ship down-
stream and, as soon as we could, we let go the
starboard anchor to help. That cable also promptly
carried away !

We were in midstream and were now pretty helpless
save for the tug tender. To her we managed to get
our heavy towing hawser. This we hoped would
steady the ship, but lo ! the hawser was not equal to
the strain and broke.

The ship was unmanageable. We were broadside
on, there was a strong spring-tide, and anchored in the
river were many ships any of which we might foul.
I have compared a big ship in narrow water to a lorry

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in a lane ; it was worse that night, for that tide was
carrying us at the rate of between to 7^ knots,
and remember, the Mauretania has a displacement
of over 40,000 tons — some boom ! A boom that
reached a third of the way across the stream.

We couldn’t turn her ; not only because of the gale
and the tide and the darkness and the beating rain,
but because there were too many other ships about.
It was an awkward enough situation, and in the end
it was the ship herself who found the best way out.
She drifted on to a comfortable sandbank and, as it
were, sat down to await better conditions.

We obtained tug assistance, and at the right moment
she came easily off, we turned down river and pro-
ceeded to sea. There was nothing else we could do ;
it was impossible to return to the buoy and the trip
to the Clyde had to be abandoned as we had no
anchors. So I put to sea and cruised about waiting
for daylight. Even then we could not make the buoy
owing to the heavy weather, and so had to put into
Gladstone Dock, where we awaited the recovery of
our anchors and had them bent on again.

It was sheer good fortune that night that we did
not crash into half a dozen ships as we drifted — almost
800 feet of hull sweeping up the river on the incoming
tide. That evening proved too strenuous for our
pilot ; it was the last time ever he went on to a
ship’s bridge.

One satisfactory aspect of the affair was that we
inconvenienced nobody but ourselves.

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Occasionally, of course, unavoidable delays do
cause an upsetting of personal arrangements. Sir
Malcolm Campbell had such an experience a short
time ago, but being a good sport he understood the
situation, less concerned than the thousands on shore
who waited to greet him on his return from winning
the world’s land speed record.

On a previous occasion he had travelled with me,
and I have seldom met a man who is a better
“ mixer ” ; jolly, frank, so natural recounting his
experiences with a sort of modest fluency that makes
the good conversationalist. He would laugh lightly
while you, the listener, thrilled at some of the hair-
breadth escapes he recounted. One I recall. He was
driving at some terrific rate, I can’t remember exactly
what, but, you know, one of those little excursions of
his which make an express train seem like a crawling
caterpillar, when in a flash he was faced with two
desperate and slim chances to avoid certain death.
The alternatives were a bunch of sand-dunes or the
sea.

“ I chose your good old sea,” he said with a laugh.
“ It seemed the best type of buffer available at the
moment.”

But to the return to the Mauretania which we left
waiting to go to the Clyde.

The second attempt succeeded, though the fog was
so thick that we saw nothing all the way from Liver-
pool until we became aware of several drifters dragging
for mines in the channel of the Clyde. However, I

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saw the ship at length securely moored and reported
to the Company and the Naval Transport Officer, A
submarine course at Chatham filled in several weeks,
and then I was appointed to the Saxonia, which I took
to New York, there to find that “ America was in.”
I started to carry troops at once.

In November we were engaged to bring across
3,500 Chinese labourers. On the way out we had
called at Halifax, and w'e returned to that port
on the return journey. During the intervening
fortnight an ammunition ship had blown up and
stirred the world with the horror of destruction it
occasioned. Half the town was blown to bits.

Well do I recall the consternation in New York the
night we had the news. It was blowing a blizzard,
the snow and the cold were as severe as I had ever
known, yet within a very short time a relief train had
left New York with nurses, doctors and all manner
of hospital equipment, together with food and cloth-
ing. It was a memorable instance of organization,
a never-to-be-forgotten example of what America
could do in face of almost impossible conditions.
Several trains follow’ed the first and when, later on,
we were at Halifax, there W'as notliing too good to be
said for the Americans who had rushed to help the
stricken town, undoubtedly saving many lives and
endless suffering.

Our Chinks were a fairly well-behaved crowd, but
on one occasion they broke out.

A room in the after part of the ship was used to stow

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bread as soon as it was baked — 20,000 cobs a day.
About ten o’clock one morning word came along to
me that the Chinamen had broken into this store. It
suggested an ugly situation, for if the entire 3,500
of them got together they could have taken the ship.
Quick action was certainly called for. I sent word
to their officers (white) and myself raced to the scene
of disorder. Bedlam reigned. The room was filled
with wild yellow fellows, scratching, scrambling, loot-
ing. My arms and legs got busy before I could break
a way into the place, and though the main body was
thus taken by surprise in the rear, the crowd turned
and showed no sort of respect for authority. Gold
braid or not, they launched an attack on me and the
few helpers I had, and I dai'e not think what might
have happened if the officers had not been pretty slick
in getting together and making a determined rush
from the other side.

Little troubles sprang up most voyages. Some of
our own men got a bit out of hand now and then.
Once it was a complaint about margarine served —
a commodity they themselves had chosen to have.
They were a bit ungrateful about that, I must say, for
this was the period when strict food-rationing was
in practice at home, and yet these fellows were not
affected by it, getting their usual peace-time allow-
ances. I was a bit huffed at them, especially when
they persisted and got troublesome, going so far as to
threaten to refuse duty. I had the men up and
pointed out the childishness of their attitude, but they

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H.M.H.S. MAURETANIA

wouldn’t listen to reason. So I ordered them back
to their work, reminding them that there were over
a couple of thousand bayonets on board, and that
if my words failed I shouldn’t hesitate to use more
“ pointed ” persuasion, I’m glad to say the bayonets
were not required in the argument ; indeed, the men
ended with a round of laughter and we had a perfectly
happy ship afterwards.

There was a day in Mudros when I had to go so
far as to have a squad of soldiers lined up on deck,
because certain members of the crew had in fact
refused duty — they were annoyed at being set some
task when they had expected a spot of leave, but it
was a job that had to be done — and I meant that it
should be performed.

When the soldiers were lined up with their rifles
loaded with live cartridges I paraded the recalcitrant
members of the crew with their backs to the bulkliead.
Then I told them frankly what their conduct meant
in time of war, and that I shouldn’t hesitate to use
the sternest methods. Whether they thought I was
bluffing I don’t know, but it needs a plucky man to
call a bluff while he looks down a barrel of a loaded
rifle.

The job was performed.

There are always grumblers in a company of men
several hundred strong. Once I had a complaint that
food was bad in quantity and quality and cooking.
I knew that complaint was not justified, so instead
of argument I ordered a table in the first-class dining-

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room to be set with the same cutlery, plates and so
on that the men had. It was all very clean and
properly laid out. Then I instructed two men from
each department to come to the saloon at 11.30 and
went down to meet them. I ordered the meal to be
served just as it would have been in their own mess.
It was, and I sampled every dish. Of course, it was
all thoroughly good.

“ Is this exactly what you get in your own mess ? ”
I asked.

They admitted it was. Then I pointed out their
trouble — they didn’t bother to have the meal properly
served up. Their tablecloths were not clean, nor
their crockery nor their cutlery. The fault was their
own, not the Company’s. I thought it well to reduce
several of their surplus allowances and then they saw
the justice of it. There were no more complaints.

Sailors especially love to grouse. Once when in sail
the skipper was in the habit of bringing his wife along
on voyages, and she was always full of compassion for
the “ poor fellows ” before the mast. One Sunday
they came aft to see the captain. The old complaint
— bad food, bad cooking. The captain said he would
look into it. He consulted his wife. Under her gentle
suasion he decided to give the crew a treat next
Sunday. This consisted of several fat geese, the
cooking of which was superintended by the captain’s
wife. She and the cook did their best, and then sat
down waiting for the applause. It did not eventuate.
Instead they heard a heated argument going on for-

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ward and one of the officers strolled that way to see
what was the matter. The men were grumbling !

“ Do you think,” cried one m disgust, “ they would
have given us geese if they could have eaten them
themselves — us ? Not likely ! ”

CHAPTER IX

H.M.S. TUBER ROSE

I N 1918 the Mauretania was commissioned and
armed as an auxiliary cruiser, and once again I
was on her bridge.

The first voyage was made to New York and it was
a record—of slowness ; she took over eight days to
make the passage. From the time we left our escort
of destroyers off the north-west of Ireland, we
experienced a series of westerly gales with tremendous
seas which delayed us. Before we moored in New
York, indeed, we had an attack of what is known as
“ coal fever.” The Mauretania at that time was
fuelled with coal and, naturally enough, there is little
room to spare for much more than the necessary
quantity to make the crossing. On this occasion,
being half as long again as usual on the trip, we
were down to the dregs. As a matter of fact, when
we were at last putting into port, the stokers were
scraping the bunkers for sufficient power to conclude
the journey. And during that same period our col-
leagues on the Aquitania were in even worse plight.
They were using brooms to get the last traces of coal
for the boilers. Another few hours and they would
have been stranded.

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The Aquitania had been commissioned and also the
Olympic, so the three large liners were under the
White Ensign, the Cunard ships making New York,
for American troops, and the Olympic mostly Halifax
for the Canadians. My ship in all conveyed about
35,000 U.S. troops, including the last uniformed
men to leave, while also we landed the first to return
after the Armistice.

Speaking of coal. It was on that return voyage
that we were supplied with fuel of a greatly inferior
quality. It was quite a mistake, but it worried us
because we were able to steam only nineteen knots
instead of our customary twenty-five. We picked
up a bit as we neared Ireland because the ship w^as
getting lighter, but every one on board was thankful
when we sighted our escort, seeing that igi 8 was a
pretty tough year regarding the submarine menace,
and the Mauretania would have been a fine feather
in the cap of any enemy submarine commander.

Perhaps it was as well that all the time we were
armed we never were called upon to defend our lives
by gunfire. Once we sighted a periscope and were
fired at, but the fog closed in and the enemy sub-
merged before we could bring the guns to bear on
him. Those guns were not of the latest pattern, and
the four mounted on the forecastle were under
water half the time in bad weather. We were very
fortunate all through ; even when during that year
influenza was carrying off men by the scores both
on board ship and in the training camps in America,

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we never had a case. Yet every voyage we carried
5,000 officers and men and in addition had a ship’s
company of 992.

You may wonder how we handled so great a number,
five times the usual quota of peace-time passengers.
Well, we could feed the lot in three-quarters of an
hour. Emergencies call for emergency organization.
I had fixed eighteen cafeterias in various parts of the
ship which, in a way, were after the well-known
quick-lunch counters of America. The men passed
along in line with their plates and mugs and these
were filled as each one passed the service window
almost without a moment’s pause. The men took
their food up on deck, where it was consumed, and
this had the advantage not only of expedition but also
of cleanliness — no mess below.

I have often been asked how these Americans
behaved — and the question sometimes has carried a
sort of expectation that my reply would bring a shrug
of tolerant criticism. When the time comes, I am
going to have something to say about the Britisher’s
customary view of the American, but suffice it here
to place on record that I could not have had a better
lot of men on board. They were well-behaved,
amenable to discipline and, withal, human ; the
finest lot of fellows you could wish to meet. They
were cheery and full of enthusiasm. They wanted
to “ get at ” the enemy, to finish the job off. They
were heart and soul with the Allies, and incidentally,
since in no way were they conscripted, they were

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just the men who were eager for the adventure. I
remember their excitement during that glimpse we
had of an enemy submarine — their first actual peep
at the real thing. And there ■was another occasion
which brought a genuine thrill. That was off the
south coast of Ireland. We had been picked up then
by our destroyer escort and so any attack lost some-
thing of the potentialities of disaster that would have
accompanied one alone in mid-ocean. All the same,
every one I dare swear, gave a little breathless pause
as a heavy jolt seemed to strike the ship. The
tremor obviously came from under water. But it
was not a tin fish it turned out to be the exploding
of a depth charge dropped by one of the destroyers
that had traced a layer of surface oil.

Apropos of submarine warfare, we had boat
drill as soon as we left harbour, exercising “ Abandon
ship.”

The first time it took anything from fifteen to twenty
minutes for every one to get their appointed boat
stations. That wouldn’t do— if ever the manoeuvre
were to be actual instead of mere rehearsal. This
was impressed on all and the second exercise reduced
the time about thirty per cent. The third attempt
caused a smile of satisfaction on the part of our
passengers, the time being about seven minutes.
But a lot can happen in seven minutes.

“ No,” I told them, “ it won’t do ; it must be done
in three and a half minutes.”

“ Impossible,” I was told, “ you can’t get every man

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up from below and at their stations in three and a half
minutes.”

“ I’m sure we can,” I asserted.

But, despite all persuasion, the fourth attempt
recorded the same time — seven minutes. I deter-
mined to reduce it.

Now when boat drill was to be undertaken it was
always announced, but on this occasion I waited
until after dinner, then went to the bridge and ordered
“ Boat stations ” to be sounded. Naturally every
one thought it must be the real thing ; there had
been no previous announcement and not a soul
knew beforehand there was to be a drill.

Every man was at his station in exacdy three and
a half minutes — and so the time was fixed for future
occasions ; there could be no saying the thing was
impossible ; it had been done,

I said just now that we were lucky. Certainly I
had my share of it during the War. I could give
many instances of the “ sweet little cherub ” watch-
ing over poor Jack. That year 1918 reminds me of
a case.

One voyage we caught sight of the sun only once
during the trip. Dull, hazy weather held all the
way from New York to Liverpool. I picked up ray
escort of five American destroyers off the south coast
of Ireland as usual. The weather grew worse and we
saw nothing of the Irish coast. The Tusker Light-
house was altogether hidden from us as we turned
for St. George’s Channel, and a full gale was develop-

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H.M.S. TUBER ROSE

ing. Heavy rain accompanied us all up the Irish
Sea, and when I had run my distance and wanted
to turn round by Holyhead to make for the Mersey,
in the pitch darkness we couldn’t see the South
Stack Light.

About half a mile on my weather side another
steamer was heading the same way as myself, and I
was faced with the decision whether to risk turning
under her stern or forge ahead and cross her bows.
We were too close to follow the former plan I thought,
so I kept on and eventually got far enough ahead to
cross her bows. We went on for Liverpool and
picked up the Bar Lightship at the entrance of the
Mersey close on the port bow. If that other vessel had
not compelled me to go an extra couple of miles I
should have been heading for trouble. We were
going twenty-five knots and there was a strong tide
carrying us along another three or four knots, in that
rain the visibility was not more than a mile and I
had not seen anything to check my position since
leaving New York. The ordinary landsman may
see little in it all, but the seaman w'ill realize how
that other vessel providentially steered me to safety
— he was my “ little cherub ” that night all right.

I called it luck ; but is it ?

A sailor has his faith ; he lives so close to nature,
there are times when he feels in touch with the
infinite.

In this connexion I do not refer to superstition —
such reported superstition as caused the Mauretania the

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Other week to postpone a sailing until a minute or so
after midnight because her proper day of departure
happened to be Friday the thirteenth. Of old, sailors
did hold those beliefs, far more so than now. If
we sailed on a Friday, maybe over a ten months’
voyage, nothing would happen at all untoward, no
storm would threaten our safety, but what it was put
down to that Friday sailing.

Faith is as different from superstition as courage is
removed from fear. It is not fear but faith that
makes the sailors down there at Marseilles hang
replicas of their ships in the aisles of the church that
looks from the hill-top on the bay with its immense
gilded Madonna watching over them as they go and
come. There are thoroughly authenticated stories
of how that gleaming figure has guided lost fishers to
port and how thought of Notre Dame de la Garde
has strengthened them in adversity.

It was not fear that caused me to stand a moment
silent beside my cabin desk in those dark days of
war when we were setting out across dangerous
waters. That moment of communion was both
thanks and commitment of the future, and stimulated
one for whatever lay ahead. I think that the closer
to nature you live the more do you feel there is a
Higher Command and that thought brings strength
and comfort. If you have put yourself under orders,
as it were, then carry on, do your best and leave the
issue. It takes away worry without in any way les-
sening the highest effort of which you are capable ;

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indeed it encourages that effort, for the Commander
expects your best.

Oh, yes, there is a divinity that shapes our ends. . . .

One day, years ago, I had left Queenstown about
noon and put to sea. It was winter-time and, after
I had passed the Fastnet, both night and fog closed
in on the ship. I was on the bridge staring out into
nothingness for hours. An eerie quiet pervaded the
shroud about us, broken only by the rhythm of the
engines and the susurrous water far below against the
ship’s bow.

Suddenly I became conscious of trouble. There
had been no sound, no sign ; but my mind was
impressed by the fact of imminent danger. You may
call it a hunch or a sixth sense ; wliatever name
you fit to the occasion, the fact remains that almost
as involuntarily as though I played a part I gave the
order : “ Stop.”

Silence followed the cessation of the engines. A
minute passed. Then I heard the faint “ Pip-pip ! ”
of a vessel’s foghorn. Out of the night it increased,
grew loud, near, then gradually diminished until it
faded away into silence again. The unseen ship
had gone right across our bows and only the impulse
that had made me stop — with never an outward and
visible reason — had saved collision.

That same impulse saved me on another occasion
that is very clear and real even to-day in my mind,
though several years and much water lie between
then and now. We were making the Straits of Belle

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Isle when dense fog enveloped us, so that it was
dangerous to proceed even at “ slow.” All night
we were hove to, and we knew there were other
ships in the vicinity because on all hands we could
hear their whistles. There was sun the next morn-
ing ; one knew that just above the mist about us it
was brilliantly clear. Still there was no decent
visibility though every indication of the weather
clearing shortly.

We proceeded slowly, but soon that impulse came to
me of impending trouble. It was not just the condi-
tions that brought an extra wariness ; I had been
in similar conditions a hundred and more times
and had gone on. It was something far more definite
than that. I was almost bidden to stop. Anyway
I gave the order ; the engines ceased. But before the
way had gone off the vessel, indeed, within a minute
of my order, a look-out sang out :

“ Ice close under the bow ! ”

We didn’t touch it. But we stayed while the fog
lifted, and as it thinned there grew into our view,
rather like a photographic plate slowly developing in
solution, what seemed to be a small island with
waves gently breaking on its shore. It was an immense
iceberg, a thousand feet long and a hundred and
fifty feet high. Very beautiful to look upon in the
breaking sunlight, but a most irritating companion
during fog.

Fog and ice — the two bugbears of the North
Atlantic ! Some people declare they can smell ice,

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H.M.S. TUBER ROSE

Others rely on ice-glare — the slight lightening in the
atmosphere at its close proximity. But, believe me,
the only safe thing is when you can sec it.

Sometimes, returning with a more or less empty
ship on our way to collect more troops, we took a
few passengers back to the States. Diplomatic and
military personages found it necessary to go across
to consult personally with our latest Allies. Some
of them did not take kindly to the discipline that
was a necessary part of their travel. Then, and even
later, passengers were compelled to wear lifebelts,
and I dare say some of the ladies didn't fancy it was a
desirable part of their attire. Cumbersome and not
exactly prepossessing. Among the passengers on one
occasion were Lord and the first Lady Reading.
A most courteous and charming couple, very re-
tiring and unperturbed.

But Lady Reading, like many other ladies, had no
love for lifebelts, and when she was promenading the
decks a man could always be relied upon to be found
in close attendance with a lifebelt.

By the way, we were not officially known as the
Mauretania at that time ! Not that I was informed
of the fact. The knowledge came to me in a remark-
able manner.

We were lying alongside the Liverpool landing-
stage after one voyage, embarking our passengers
for New York, when a naval warrant officer — a
special messenger-brought me a service letter from
the senior naval officer of the port. It was ad-

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dressed : “ The Commanding Officer, H.M.S. Tuber
RoseT

I looked at the envelope and said, “ This isn’t for
me ; you’ve made a mistake.”

“ I think it’s for you, sir,” he answered, obviously
a trifle shy of contradicting me.

“ One of the other ships here, no doubt,” I said,
waving a hand at several that were near the stage.

” I am sure it’s for you, sir,” he urged.

I had a feeling that he knew he was right, but
didn’t like being too insistent in correcting me,
so in the end I accepted it, gave a receipt, and
opened it.

It was for me all right. The Mauretania was the
Tuber Rose, and that was the first time I knew the
secret camouflage name of my ship, or that one even
existed. Why the secrecy towards me ? What was
the use of my being kept in the dark ? It might have
led to all manner of inconveniences and misunder-
standings. A little more common sense and organiza-
tion would have been appreciated.

So we draw near to the end of the world struggle.
I don’t know whether many readers know of that
wild day in New York when the Armistice was first
reported. I was there at the time. It was November
7th and just before noon news came round that the
Armistice had been declared.

“ I don’t believe it,” I said, and went to see the
Marine Superintendent.

“ Yes,” he assured me. “ It’s all over. It’s the

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H.M.S. TUBER ROSE

Armistice. We have instructions to blow whistles at
twelve o’clock.”

“ But I’ve nothing from the Admiralty Office,” I
pointed out.

“ It’s true. It’s all over the city. It’s going to
be a general holiday this afternoon.”

Just then some friends rang up on the telephone
and asked me to go with them to see the fun. I
again expressed my doubts, but “ Never mind,”
said they, “ we’ll call for you at half-past twelve.”

So the whistles were blown, hundreds of them
afloat and on shore, indeed Bedlam seemed let loose
that day in New York. My friends duly arrived and
I drove up town with them. Crews left their ships,
clerks their offices, the streets were packed. Every
one was shouting, dancing, singing.

One newspaper office had a great placard out
announcing that the Armistice was not official, but
did anyone care ? If they did it did not damp their
spirits. The fun went on just the same, all afternoon,
all evening ; parties, dancing, general excitement.
It was on along towards morning when the New
Yorkers in their own expressive way “ called it a
day.”

Four days later the real Armistice came. I heard
it by wireless ; we were at sea. The ship had sailed
on the Saturday with a full complement of troops.

I at once informed the Commanding Officer ; every
one took it rather quietly. Whetlier their exuberance
had been dissipated by what was known as “ The

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False Armistice ” or not I cannot say, but certainly
they exhibited no wild delight at the news. Indeed,
I fancy they were a little disappointed. They had
missed “ the show.”

“ Are you returning to New York with us or
carrying on?” the officers wanted to know.

“ My orders were to proceed to Liverpool with all
dispatch,” I answered, “ and those orders will be
carried out.”

They cheered up at that ; sighed with relief.

It was easy to read their thoughts ; they would
at any rate “ get overseas.” That was something !

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CHAPTER X
THE SOCIAL WHIRL

M en thaw on board. They throw aside the
cloaks they wear on shore. One can see
them change. After a couple of days the open air
and the holiday mood have caught them, by the
third they have often humanized and become
different. They are off stage.

We get a notoriety such as, for example, Mr.
Gilbert Frankau. He is Gilbert Frankau the eminent
writer when he comes on board. Indeed, when once
he crossed on the Mauretania, he retained that somewhat
provocative manner that those who know liim ashore
realize is one of his qualities. He sat at my table
and he said things — witty things, but regardless of
others’ susceptibilities. He’s like that and in a way
it is to his credit ; he doesn’t suit his views to his
audience. Independent, and, I gather, rather glories
in it. He said just what he thought about America,
for instance, never minding that there were Americans
at the same table. They bristled a bit — but he w'ent on.

In a day or two it seemed he forgot to say pro-
vocative things ; he relaxed mentally as well as
physically. He grew, shall I say, softer ? Opinions
of him changed ; I know, there were friends of mine

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at the table. When he landed every one agreed
that he was a jolly good companion, liked him and
hoped they would have the privilege of crossing with
him again.

Thus we see a more intimate side of the great ones.
Let me, so to speak, introduce you to Sir Joseph
Duveen — and his charming wife and daughter. On
land he is one of the cutest business men you will
find in a year’s search ; I have heard him recount
with a chuckle stories of his own acumen. But here
he is talking of everything but art, happy, care-free,
full of banter and quips. After dinner he comes to
my cabin with several other men who have shared
my table. We all sit and talk. The hours pass.
It is long after midnight when they leave and go back
to their wives. We are old friends ; every year Sir
Joseph makes the crossing.

Next night they come again and we talk once more.
Nothing special that one could recount, just, as the
walrus said, of cabbages and kings. But it is all so
interesting that the time slips by and the hour is one
when at last they leave me to turn in.

There may be a few intimate yarns. Sir Joseph
tells us how he started in life. His father, it seems,
gave him a thousand pounds and sent him to New
York to open an Art shop. He smiles as we jolly
him, wondering how far he has managed to stretch
that thousand by now.

Another member of the company is a big cotton
man who was born within a mile of me. He recalls

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THE SOCIAL WHIRL

how he used to go to the mills in those far days
about the time I was in the Conway. Now he has
built mills of his own out in New England.

The talk goes on ; it is two o’clock when we shake
hands and say “ good night.”

And the next morning there is trouble. The wives
remonstrate and ask what we do sitting up so late in
the privacy of the Captain’s cabin.

“ Nothing at all, just gossiping,” Sir Joseph answers,
but there is an arch in Lady Duveen’s brows and her
merry eyes laugh her doubts. Now it is a fact that
our after-dinner libations are nothing more than
coffee, for if every one drank as little as I do there
would be an appalling fall in a certain class of revenue
to the State. But the ladies don’t credit the fact that
interesting conversation keeps us awake until the
small hours.

That third night we forgather once more, and it is
about eleven o’clock when there is a knock on the cabin
door. I open it and there is Lady Duveen laughingly
asking what we are doing. She’s come to investigate.

“ Come in,” I invite her, and she joins the company.

And when she leaves, with the remainder, it is nearly
three o’clock !

The other wives next day express their wish to
join our evening gathering and they do, and that
night we break our record : it is half-past three
when we separate. That’s the worst of these ladies ;
they keep one up so late !

It was possibly their presence that made someone

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suggest we should tell the story of how we met our
wives, and we were exchanging confidences for
hours. One lady present had met her husband
appropriately enough on a Gunard ship cruising in the
Mediterranean ; that started the ball rolling.

Every man I suppose has a love story somewhere in
his life ; mine, I told them, commenced many years
back just before I was going to China for my naval
training. I had gone to an orchestral concert in
Bolton, and there met a man I hadn’t seen for four-
teen years. He invited me over to his home the
following Friday, and I went. The time passed so
pleasantly that it was half-past nine when I sud-
denly inquired :

“ What’s the last train to Bolton ? ”

“ It’s gone,” they laughed, and made me stay the
night. I was nothing loath. It was a jolly family
and I was secretly delighted, especially with one
member of it — a bonny bouncing girl who was the
daughter of the house.

The father had a gift of story-telling and he could
reel off yarns in Lancashire dialect, so we had a late
sitting.

As I was leaving the next morning I mentioned
to the daughter that I was off on Monday to China.

“ Don’t come back with a pigtail,” she laughed,
“ or we won’t know you.”

At Ceylon I wrote to my friend, her brother, and
later received a reply the first part of which was in
his handwriting, the latter part in that of the sister’s.

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He had been interrupted and asked her to finish the
epistle. In view of that, my answer was addressed
to her. And that was the beginning of my love story.
The writer of the second portion of that letter was the
present Lady Rostron.

It had been no easy matter when the War ended
to relax and take up the long-neglected social side
of a captain’s life. Wc were busy in those days. So
many of the liners that had been in the Atlantic
service had gone to their last rest, that those which
remained to carry on were pretty full. Ambassa-
dors, big business men, bankers, politicians were
especially' in evidence, and several of the outstanding
war figures also. Admiral Sims and his staff crossed
with me returning home. His chief of staff told me
one day at lunch that I had been the cause of more
damage to the U.S.A. destroyers than any one man.
He referred, of course, to the escorts of the Mauretania
during 1918, as we usually had five destroyers with
us each way between the west of Ireland and Liver-
pool. Those destroyers had to go all out to keep
up with the Mauretania, seeing they had to zigzag as
well. Once or twice indeed I dropped them astern,
their bows buried in heavy seas, and went ahead ;
it seemed wiser to push on alone than to loiter and
wait for their company.

Shortly after the Armistice we had General Pau,
the famous one-armed French soldier, who had been
out to Australia on a mission, returning with us in the
Mauretania to Cherbourg.

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During the voyage I took the General and his
mission round the ship and incidentally inspected
the kitchens. The chef and several of his assistants
were Frenchmen and had done their bit in the war.
The chef was anxious to pay his respects to the
General and I therefore arranged for them to meet.
The General was intensely interested. The chef
informed me he would like to give a dinner to General
Pau. I there and then made arrangements for the
General and his mission to dine with me in my own
cabin that evening.

The chef did justice to himself and credit to the
ship, and everything went merry and bright.

During dinner, the secretary to the mission was
telling us numerous incidents of their voyage. He
spoke very fluently in English, but had now and then
to turn to his superior with a sentence in French so
that the soldier could understand what was being
said, for General Pau was unacquainted with our
language. Names, however, are universal and the
secretary in his conversation mentioned that of
Honolulu. Immediately the General’s eyes lighted.
Here was a word he recognized and evidently it
brought to him visions of lovely maidens bedecking
him with the usual floral offerings.

“ Ha — Honolulu,” he said with a touch of the
ecstatic. Then he smacked his lips, blew an imaginary
kiss into the air and raising his glass made us drink to
“ Honolulu.”

Admiral Mayo, who commanded the U.S, Fleet,

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THE SOCIAL WHIRL

was also a passenger. On that occasion we had a
pretty bad dusting off the Banks with a stiff north-
east gale blowing. I thought it would interest the
Admiral to come on the bridge and see how the
Mauretania kept up her twenty-five knots in such a
heavy sea. He was certainly impressed- — but I
imagine the rest of the party considered it more
comfortable a few decks below the bridge !

Almost every passenger enjoys looking over a big
vessel — I suppose it goes back to the childish days
when one’s father lifted one up as a kiddie and took
his infant to “ see the engines.” I remember Mr.
Winston Churchill was specially interested. He went
all over the Mauretania. He was First Lord of the
Admiralty then but, if I may whisper it politely,
it occurred to me that to carry out the duties of that
high office did not require much technical knowledge
of ships !

Prince George, charming, shy yet gracious and
friendly, was different. He knew ships and when
he was on board he examined everything with the
eye of an expert and the interest of an enthusiast.
He had the Royal suite opposite to the Prince of
Wales’s and was, of course, the centre of interest on
board. Naturally enough, many feminine hearts
fluttered at his close proximity, but I fear they fluttered
in vain. He was a very retiring passenger, keeping
a good deal to his own quarters, though he came out
to dance sometimes and was dehghtful to every one.

We are a complete city in miniature when at sea.

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Some “ residents,” such as the Queen of Rumania
and Mr. Edgar Wallace, will be busy in their cabins
with their literary work ; others, gay and out to enjoy
themselves, like Miss Gertrude Lawrence, will “ throw
a party ” most nights and after dinner keep up the
fun in their cabins until the small hours. Many
exist very much as if they were around their own
firesides. In the smoke-rooms there will be cards,
with a little gambling to enliven the play. Romances
will begin — and often end — and officers will patrol
the decks, even as policemen on shore pace their
beats. You get different styles of living just as in
any town, the luxurious surroundings of the first-
class graduating down through the second, the
tourists’ (j oiliest crowd on the whole ship), to the
third. And it is rather wonderful that with such a
large company representing so many different types
we get such little trouble. When any does arise
it is usually provided either by passengers who
“ relax ” too much during the space at sea and look
more than is wise on the wine when it bubbles, or by
the only passengers who never change — the gamblers.

Of course, there is no restriction on playing ; there
is nothing to stop men sitting up all night at cards ;
indeed, they do nowadays sometimes until dawn.
We wish to give our passengers whatever they want,
and the old rule of closing the bar and having a
general “ lights out ” at midnight has gone. As long
as passengers are about there are always attendants to
supply their needs. Thus more and more, ship life in-

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dines to start later in the morning and carry on later at
night. There are few passengers wlio are down to the
nine o’clock breakfast ; many ladies don’t appear
until the early afternoon, from which time there is
always something to occupy their intere.st. But
speaking of trouble — and gambling. . . .

During 1926, going to America I had three xA.meri-
cans in my cabin after dinner and we were talking
of travel and of companions one met both on land
and sea. One of them told of an experience he had
in regard to meeting people casually and how the
innocent can be taken in.

“ I am a good card player,” he said, not boast-
fully but just as a matter of information. ” Once I
was going from New York to California and didn’t
know a soul on the train. On the second day a man
came to me and asked me to make a fourth at bridge.

" ‘ Right,’ I told him, ‘ I’ll play.’

” The first evening I lost a little at first but finished
more or less square. And so it went on ; tve played a
good deal most days. We were playing old-fashioned
bridge, not auction. Well, it passed the time and the
other fellows were good company, but if you have
played as much as I have in all sorts of circumstances
you keep your eyes skinned. On the last night I
didn’t like the fact that one of the men left the table
for a few minutes. There might have been nothing
in it — but there was ! When he came back the cards
were dealt. Hearts were trumps and I had been
given a pretty promising hand. I held the ace, king,

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queen, jack, nine and another of the suit — six in all.
There was a good deal of doubling — too much I
decided, and I guessed what had happened. All the
other hearts were in one hand, and if I hadn’t been
a bit of an expert I’d have lost pretty heavily.”

“ Very interesting,” I said. “ I wonder whether
you would write down the hands for me ? ”

He did so, and I put the record in my desk.

Coming back we were due in Plymouth on Monday
evening or Tuesday morning. Early on the Monday
morning the purser came to me and said a passenger
had complained of cheating at cards as a result of
which he had lost 13,000 dollars. Would I take
it up ?

” Certainly,” I replied.

The “ pigeon ” came along and told me how he
had been asked by three strangers to make a fourth
at bridge. He had played most nights with his new
friends and the game fluctuated quietly so that until
the final night he was about all square. Back of my
mind it sounded very like the story my friend had
told me on the previous voyage across. Could it
be that the gamblers of the train were on board the
ship ? I cocked my ears when he went on to explain
that they had been playing old-fashioned bridge, and
as soon as he commenced to describe the hand over
which he complained of cheating and said : “ Hearts
were trumps and ” I cut in.

“ And you held the ace, king, queen, jack, nine
and another ? ”

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He looked at me in perplexity. “ That’s right,”
he admitted.

“ I’ll see all the gentlemen concerned at 2.30,” I
said.

Three came. A Captain X didn’t turn up.

“ Fetch him,” I ordered, and the staff captain and
the purser went in search. When he arrived I told
them I knew all about their plot. They tried to
ridicule me.

“ Would you like proof? ” I asked them, and got
the paper my friend had given me from my desk.
“ It was a placed pack,” I asserted. They saw I had
them.

But they would not give back the money. I had
made up my mind to bluff them a bit, and now
told them tliat I should have them arrested on landing
at Plymouth. Unfortunately five minutes before
they came to my room I had received a wireless
telling me not to call at Plymouth as the General
Strike W'as on and the passengers might not get to
London. I was to go to Cherbourg and then South-
ampton, where it was thought transit w-ould be safer.
But these men didn’t know that and thinking the
police w'ould be waiting for them at Plymouth they
agreed to refund — half

“ That won’t do,” I told them, and then began a
sort of Dutch auction. The amount they were to
retain came lower and lower. When it reached
two thousand dollars I cut in.

” Right, I’ll accept that.”

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So the duped passenger got most of his money
back.

Curiously enough I ran across exactly the same
procedure twice in the Berengaria only a little later.
The men were different each time and the amounts
were first ten thousand dollars and then twenty-one
thousand dollars. On each of these occasions I
accepted the players’ offer to return the money all
save two thousand dollars.

One more gambling episode. It concerned a very
innocent Englishman and I forget the amount, but
there was no doubt he had been “ rooked.” He
didn’t rightly know the game. When he was brought
to me I told him to try and get back the cheque
he had given them. “ If they won’t part,” I said,
“I’ll see them.” His first interview was fruitless.
I primed him for a second. He went down and,
carrying out instructions, approached them in friendly
mood. After a time he asked to see the cheque
because he had made some mistake in it. When
they showed it him, he snatched and tore it into bits.
They couldn’t do anything — except growl.

In two and a half years I got back altogether fifty-
three thousand dollars for passengers who had been
swindled at cards.

Passengers don’t often lose their heads, but if they
do it is up to the Captain to maintain order for the
sake of the other people on board. There was a bit
of a scuffle one night, or rather morning, after a
gambling party had broken up. I think it was a

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water-jug that was thrown and one man received
cuts on the face. The affair was brought to me and
I had them up.

Do you want to prosecute ? ” I asked the man
who was hurt.

He said he didn’t. So I turned to the man who
had assaulted him. “ You mustn’t enter any public
room for the remainder of the voyage. Give me your
word of honour and you’ll hear no more.”

He gave it me and kept it, and I know he bore no
malice because he crossed with me a bit later. I
saw' him and said affably : “No more of it, you
know'.”

He laughed and shook his head. “ No, Captain,”
and all was w'ell.

When men do get a bit wild it is alw'ays after a
late night. Once three youngsters in the early
morning went on deck and commenced throwing
lifebelts overboard. They' were seized and brought
before me. One of them ventured a superior sort
of smile and asked : “ Well, what can you do about
it? ”

“ Take that smile off your face,” I told him.
“ I am not only master of the ship but chief magis-
trate,” After a little argument I said : “ I’ll leave
it to you. It is a criminal offence to destroy life-
saving appliances, I shall charge you the value and
shall also fine you. You will hand to the purser a
certain amount which wall go to the seamen’s chari-
ties. Otherwise I shall hand you over to the authorities

HOME FROM THE SEA

on arrival at New York and you will find you
have committed a serious offence.” For, of course,
though while at sea a captain is all-powerful even to
the extent of placing a man in a strait-jacket — and
it has been done — yet he has to answer for his actions
on reaching shore. In this case they paid up meekly.
One can usually settle little troubles on the spot.
For instance, a steward had to complain to me at
Cherbourg that a passenger had struck him and broken
his dental plate. Once again it was after an all-
night party. I charged the offender five pounds for
repairs and that was the end of it.

That is the awkward side of life aboard. It obtrudes
very slightly, I’m glad to say. Mostly travellers are
in good mood. And the more distinguished the
person as a rule the more sociable and reserved.
Most of them join in with all the activities of the
ship. Sir Harry Lauder will gladly occupy half the
programme at our concert, for instance, and Miss
Evelyn Laye or Chaliapin will sing. Whatever a
person can do, he or she does as a rule. If it was
Lord Birkenhead he would readily oblige with
an address to the passengers, who, you may
be sure, were eager to gather in the lounge and
listen.

What an amazingly eloquent man he was, by the
way. I recollect one afternoon he had promised to
address a gathering. Was he busy preparing his
speech ? Not a bit. Indeed, he almost forgot all
about it. There we were — I in the chair to introduce

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him — and he had not put in an appearance, After
waiting a time I sent out a search-party. Lord
Birkenhead was peacefully dozing in the smoke-
room, Yet in three minutes he was delighting us
with his wit and pungent criticisms.

He was always quite a personage on board, com-
manding, attracting all eyes. So was Mr. Ramsay
MacDonald — a little more human, perhaps not so
far in the heights, probably because his daughter was
with him and there was so obviously a devotion that
was delightful to see between them. He came over
\vith us \vhen he went out to engage in the naval
reduction conference and the trip occasioned much
excitement. He told me he tvas delighted with his
reception ; especially tvhen he saw two cruisers that
came out two hundred miles to sea to greet him.
Miss Ishbel was just a simple Scots girl, unaffected,
a pleasant and very knowledgeable conversationalist,
quiet, observant, interested in everything and inter-
esting to every one.

The Prime Minister was no lie-abed. Every morn-
ing one could see him at six o’clock pacing the deck
taking an early constitutional before breakfast. I
guess they’ve got to keep fit, these hard workers. A
man like Edgar Wallace always takes his early
morning exercise ; Lord Birkenhead usually had a
swim before breakfast.

These leaders of the world unbent and became
part of the company travelling. They all knew the
art of mixing. Many of them would preside over the

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concerts and helped tremendously with the jollity
of such evenings.

A certain Scottish lord presided one night and kept
the audience in roars of laughter with some stories
he told ; I’m not sure he wasn’t the best “ turn ”
of the night. I remember one story.

He said his people came from the north, yet they
didn’t seem to be able to hold on to money. “ It
is said of us,” he explained, possibly with his tongue
in his cheek, “ that if it were raining gold and one
of us had an umbrella he would keep it shut up
under his arm when any decent Scotsman would
open it — and hold it out inverted ! ”

That made my friend Jesse Straus laugh. He is
one of the heads of Macy, the giant stores of America
where you can buy anything from a needle to a
railway engine. His family is wealthy, yet wealth
made no difference one night to his father and mother.
They were on board the Titanic when it struck.
Mrs. Straus had a chance to get into one of the boats.

“ No,” she said, “ I shall not go without you,”
turning to her husband. And they went down
together.

Another outstanding personality among passengers
was Mr. Lloyd George. Despite his by no means
commanding stature he seemed to dominate any
assembly in which he chanced to be. Always affable
and smiling, ready to mix with every one and to talk
at table freely about the world, the flesh and the
Liberal Party. I fancy he was not quite so much

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in his element as part of the social round as he was
when, in port, the reporters swarmed aboard, all
eager to get an inteniew with the illustrious visitor
to their country.

He collected them together in the lounge and I
have an imperishable picture of him, sitting back in
his chair, his legs crossed, as he gazed with his merry
eyes on the circle of newspaper men who were grouped
around waiting for his words of wisdom. They
looked for all the world like a Sunday-school class
being addressed by their teacher !

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C OMMUNAL life on board commences after lunch
and reaches its height after dinner. Mornings
are rather dead, few passengers are about except those
energetic members of the community who seek a
set-off from the somewhat lazy life afloat by exercise
in the gymnasium, the swimming-pool or the sports’
practice nets.

As soon as lunch is over many play horse or dog
racing on deck in connexion with which there is a
pari mutuel and most have “ a little bit on ” to add
zest to the sport. Or there may be boxing matches
— ^which are better to watch in my mind than pro-
fessional encounters — and always there is the cinema.
Most of the big ships are now fitted with a “ talkie ”
screen and shows are well attended.

Then it is tea-time and the cocktail hour and a space
to dress for dinner.

What a difference to-day from twenty years ago !
Then people used to come on board and the first thing
they did was to unpack their “ steamer clothes.”
These were not specially attractive to look upon ; they
dressed in those days for a rough time. Immediately
on arrival the other side these queer clothes were

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packed away in steamer trunks and stored to await
their return. Now the dining-room of a ship like the
Berengaria equals in smartness the finest hotels in
London, Paris or Cairo. Jewels blaze on perfectly
moulded necks ; the hair has been dressed during the
afternoon by the ship’s lady hairdressers, the latest
creations from Paris cause admiring — and sometimes
envious — looks. There is no better dressed crowd in
the world. Later, it may be interesting. to draw a few
comparisons between sea-going life now and a genera-
tion ago, but for the present, since we are gossiping
of social things and prominent people, it is sufficient
to realize that here in the dining-room is gathered the
elite of many countries, perfectly turned out, and in
the mood to dance soon, as they do on shore, until the
small hours of the morning, even though outside the
Atlantic may be shaking its tawny manes and a hurri-
cane developing from the south-west. The riotings
of the elements do not worry them much — down here.
There are few nights when the ship is not sufficiently
steady to dance to the well-equipped and competent
orchestra.

Then there is the fun of the “ Pool.” Very few
people who have not made the crossing on one of the
larger liners know just how this is handled. It is a
sweep on the day’s run of the ship — ^twenty-four hours.
Now the Mauretania steams twenty-five and a half knots
an hour and the Berengaria a bit less. T ake the former.
Her average run per day is round the 6oo-odd miles’
mark. Passengers know this and have the opportunity

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to judge whether average speed is being maintained or
if, through bad weather or fog, there is likely to be a
diminution. But for the most part somewhere about
the actual figure can be guessed. Suppose we take
600. Several passengers purchase numbers just above
and below this figure — the actual figure, too, of
course. These numbers are then auctioned. Some-
times twenty pounds is offered for a number, often
much more. The passenger who has the original
ticket can, of course, buy it in at the auction, but if he
sells it, he retains half the proceeds should it win.

The total of money to be divided varies enormously
but is usually well in the hundreds. It depends on the
wealth among passengers and not a little on the
quality of the auctioneer. Sometimes there is great
fun. A few of the amateur auctioneers we have had
would put the patter of many a professional to shame.
And it is amazing how now and then one passenger
will have a run of luck in this pool, just as a player
will at the tables at Monte Carlo.

On one passage out to America there sat at my table
an Englishwoman. I didn’t even know she was going
in for the sweep, though, to be sure, the ladies are just
as keen on this little flutter as the men. However,
she went up and obtained a ticket. She got a number
that night for fifteen pounds. That number won.
The next night she bid for and obtained another
number and again it was successful. Rare enough to
win twice, but lo ! on the third night her number again
took the pool. The thing was looking a bit uncanny,

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but on the fourth night surprise gave way in a few
minds to suspicion when this lady’s number again was
the correct one.

“ I object/’ cried out one man who evidently took
the business a bit seriously. “ This lady is sitting at
the captain’s table.”

Not only an objectionable but a stupid remark.
In the Atlantic where we get such quick changes of
weather it is impossible to forecast the run and the
captain and officers do not know any better than those
who are gambling on it. Other travellers, of course,
realize that and on this occasion the objector was
instantly squashed.

But several American gentlemen on board were so
impressed by the lady’s run of luck that on the fifth
night they asked if they might go fifty-fifty with her.
Smilingly she agreed, for, as you shall hear, she was
anything but a mercenary person.

Again she won !

I dare say she cleared a thousand pounds on the trip,
but she didn’t leave the ship with a hundred dollars.
Of course, it is an unwritten law that the winner shall
be temporary host or hostess to the jolly crowd who
indulge in the pastime, but in addition to this she
gave away all her winnings — ^very generous tips and
donations to the sailors’ charities.

The same lady crossed back, I was told, on the
Aquitania and she lost every night.

That notion that I knew the mileage was not un-
common. Three Americans once occupied seats at

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my table and one lunch-time I noticed one hand
over some money to the others. It was winnings at
the sweep.

“ Do you mind ? ” one asked when they explained.

“ Not a bit,” I laughed. “ Good luck.”

Next lunch- time one of them came to the table
looking rather sheepish.

“ Well, out with it. What is the result to-day ? ”

“ WeVe won again,” he told me, and was quite
apologetic lest other passengers should think he had
obtained inside knowledge — ^you know, straight from
the horse’s mouth as it were.

Speaking of the gift made by the lady winner to the
sailors’ charities ; I should like to say here how
generous passengers always are to that excellent cause.
The spirit of goodwill is, indeed, aboard in this regard.
At times it is staggering — and is most appreciated.

I remember once a colonel gave a thousand dollars
to the charities. This inspired someone to offer ^50
on condition ten others gave ; 4 ^io. It was all forth-
coming. “ I’ll give ten if ten will give one each,”
went on another. That was obtained. Then a lady
said she had a twenty-dollar gold piece of a certain
date and she would sell it. It fetched a hundred
dollars and was at that turned in again for re-sale.
This time it obtained seventy dollars and was once
more re-auctioned — for fifty.

Then well-known persons will make offerings
according to their specialities. Helen Wills will auto-
graph a racket she has won a championship with.

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One I recollect brought a hundred and fifty dollars.
Hagen, when crossing to win the British golf champion-
ship, landed without a very' specially favourite club
— a mashie iron. On the way over he had offered to
auction it for the charides and was himself naturally
chosen as the auctioneer. It fetched the large sum
of ;^200. “ I was glad to get that amount,” he said
afterwards, “ but I was darned sorry to lose an old
friend.”

Speaking of Hagen, he came aboard the Mauretania
with no fewer than 600 golf balls. “ When I knew I
was crossing,” he said, “ I began to collect them.
Friends gave me their old ones together with their good
wishes for success in the British championship. I love
the long drive and what better practice could you
want than hitting away with all your might into the
broad Atlantic.” The passengers were as delighted
as he to see ball after ball splash into the sea and
some of the sporty ones regretted they could not bet
on the distances. “ Well,” he remarked, “ IVe lost
a few balls in my time but never as many as on this
trip across the pond.”

The big ships offer plenty of opportunity for sports-
men — and sportswomen — on board ; they need never
grow stale, for there are gyms, and swimming-pools,
and tennis nets always available. Miss Betty Nuthall
as well as other of our lady players used to play at
the nets frequently.

But the Berengaria gave a different type of lesson
to one of our leading sporting women. I refer to

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Miss Betty Garstairs. She looks like a sailor and I
christened her “ The Skipper.” She knows all
about motor-boats, to be sure, but she is also a very
knowledgeable yachtswoman ; she told me about her
new boat that was launched and in which she said
she intended to make long ocean voyages.

When she was crossing with me, however, she
was all set on a new motor-boat she was then having
built. This was a seventy-foot vessel and with
it she planned to make a record crossing of the
Atlantic.

I stared at her. One knew she had no lack of pluck,
but to cross the Atlantic with its moods and its
immensity in such a boat seemed mad. You know
you can read of adventures like that and pass them
by almost ; they don’t get home to you. But when
a girl is talking to you in close proximity, a girl who
has sat beside you at dinner, a girl in evening dress
and who looks up at you with such straight eyes, the
thing seems altogether different. I looked at Miss
Garstairs and was amazed, first at the pluck of this
quiet girl, then at her blissful daring to tackle some-
thing she surely could not understand.

“ Gome up to the bridge to-morrow when it is
light,” I told her.

She came, delighted enough, for everything that
concerns the sea and ships holds her entire interest.

“ Now this is about the finest month of the year,”
1 reminded her. “ Right ; now look at that swell.”

The Atlantic was quiet enough — ^for the Atlantic.

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But the great swells rolled by. I tried to picture to
her what her seventy-foot boat would have to face
during every hour of the nights and days even if it
was fine weather ; of course if she encountered a real
buster — well, that was a risk she understood. But she
stood looking there and listening to me for a quarter
of an hour — seeing her frail craft opposing those heav-
ing hills with the speed she planned to attain in order
to make a record crossing. Her boat hadn’t even a
flare at the bows.

“ No,” she said. “ I see the scheme is impossible,
I can’t do it, Thank you.”

She never made that attempt ; I fancy she was so
put off it that she never as much as got into that boat,
though it was built.

By the way, what a veritable outbreak in sport
there has been among women since the War. They
always seem to be crossing the Atlantic, golf girls,
rowing girls, swimming girls, tennis girls, even flying
girls. All very charming, usually romping, healthy
creatures, full of life. But I often think the thing is
vastly overdone. Is it good for the race that these
girls — many of them still in their teens — should be
asking such tremendous effort of their physiques ? I
doubt it ; I am old-fashioned enough to prefer the
girlish girl, not the falsely demure miss of the Victorian
era, but the sane daughter of this century who looks
upon sport as pleasant exercise and recreation and
not the be-all and end-all of her existence. These are
perhaps the future mothers of boys, and those boys

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will be the better if their mothers have not lived
the hectic, overstraining life these sportswomen do
to-day.

I would like to go further and suggest that among
men, too, altogether too much prominence and im-
portance are given to sport. A professional boxer or
a professional golfer is thought much more of than
men who are doing the world’s work. And many of
them can’t stand the glare of the limelight — diet’s leave
it at that. But walking about the saloons of a liner
year after year one cannot help drawing comparisons,
and it is the really important man who attracts least
attention. You will find, shall we say, a man like the
late Lord Melchett almost unobserved, hiding from
recognition.

This criticism does not include such men as Sir
Malcolm Campbell or the late Sir Henry Segrave
and good fellows like Brown and Alcock. We might
rank them among sportsmen, but how much more
they are ! They raise British prestige — and that is a
national service. And for the most part such men
are not out for mere notoriety. Take Brown and
Alcock. They crossed with me before their pioneer
flight. Think of it — the first to cross the Atlantic by
air — and all done so quietly that even years after-
wards when, with a bigger blast of trumpets, others
made the crossing, that first — infinitely the most
courageous — ^flight by Brown and Alcock was almost
forgotten— just as when the German airship landed
in New York there were thousands who thought it

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was the first flight of its kind, whereas one of our
own naval dirigibles had accomplished the feat long
before.

Later Sir Whitten Brown crossed with me again in
the Mauretania.

I asked him about the flight.

“ I wouldn’t do it again for anything on earth,”
he said.

How many of the famous have trodden the decks on
my ships ! In memory I get little pictures of them.
Men like Lord Grey who, with his staff, crossed when
he was taking up the position of Ambassador at
Washington. He kept very much to himself, and I see
him with his heavily shaded eyes, for he had grave
trouble with them then, almost a shy, certainly a very
retiring figure, hardly mixing with the rest of the
passengers.

It seemed always to me tliat the greater a man was
the less prominence he sought. Take General Smuts.
He sat at my table, but he never sought the limelight.
Quiet, reserved, almost diffident he was, yet you had
but to talk to him in private to realize what a fire
burned in him for all that was calculated to help a
struggling humanity. His rich voice would warm
when he spoke of the ideals of peace, and from the
modest man who strolled quietly about the decks
avoiding observation, he became a man you knew
was a commander, firm of principle, tenacious of
purpose. Whenever he left me after anything
approaching an intimate talk he left behind a tonic

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atmosphere. There are few fighters who can also
dream, and fewer dreamers who can take off the
gloves to reach their ideals. One felt Smuts would
reach to the stars to drag down his.

They bob in and out, these figures, seen and gone
as on a moving screen. And not always the famous
stay in mind the firmest. I got much enjoyment out
of passengers who walked the more ordinary paths
of life.

One was a man who hailed from Sydney. He was
a newspaper proprietor in rather a big way I gathered.
After dinner one night I asked him up to my cabin
for a yarn and he spoke most interestedly of Australia
in rather an academic way. He came again next night,
and somehow the conversation drifted to the sailor’s
life and I was drawing some passing comparison
between life on a big liner and the sort of experiences
one had in windjammers long ago. His eyes fired with
keenness and human understanding.

" What ? ” he cried out, surprised. “ Do you mean
to say_>’<jw ” (with an emphasis on the ” you “ have
been through the mill ? ”

“ Certainly,” I smiled. “ Away back in the ’eighties
I was on a full-rigged ship called Cedric the Saxon,
and ”

He interrupted, his hand held out with enthusiasm.
" Put it there, Captain,” he said.

The explanation was that he thought, seeing I had a
title (it was after I had received my knighthood) and
commanded a big liner, I was what is called a “ cuff

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and collar sailor ” and he was delighted to find I had
been through the whole gamut of a sailor's life.
Fellow-sympathyj you see. For he, too, had risen
from being a boy in the East End of London to his
present position as a large newspaper owner, and was
proud of it. Alas, so many who have risen in the
world seek to hide their humble beginnings. This
man didn’t. I read in the papers a bit later how he
had gone back to the haunts of his youth and renewed
acquaintance with old friends.

Another and rather quaint figure looms into view.
I might almost call him our oldest inhabitant ! He
commenced crossing in Cunard ships as far back as
the ’sixties and has been a regular traveller ever .since.
Surely that must constitute a record.

Mr. Francis Hyde his name, and during the years he
became a close friend of mine. He still travels and,
though he commenced his journeys before I w'as born,
passengers may still see his lean figure a little bent
wandering about the decks and become impressed by
that old-fashioned courtesy which characterizes him.
He is American but has an inordinate love of England,
so much so that he is an authority on English cathe-
drals, having visited all of them in the land, and is
able to give you from memory the detailed liistory
of any one. Another of his hobbies is dialects extend-
ing not only over every part of Britain but also the
nearer countries of the Continent.

He has an intimate knowledge of old London,
and can recall many features of the place, its life and

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people, that have long since passed into oblivion.
His stories always interested and amused me.

Since he was about 75 he has travelled alone. His
habits are almost clock-like. He leaves New York
every year practically on the same date, always
reserves the same cabin, engages the same rooms at
Claridge’s. These reservations are made for his next
trip immediately on his return from the last. He
makes two voyages every year. Spending a month
over in England, he goes back to New York for little
more than a visit to his doctor and dentist and to get
his mail, crosses again for a further month or so, and
then returns.

A remarkable man, he must be eighty-seven or more
now, with a memory unimpaired. He is full of
pleasant tales of other days. He will tell how as a
young man he shouldered a musket in the American
Civil War of the ’sixties, and he can tell an Englishman
as much about the history of that man’s country as
a professor. He kept a log of every voyage — ^there
were books of them which he has shown me — quite
a history of travel conditions all the way from sailing
days right up to this year’s latest improvements. May
his shadow never grow less — and may it fall on the
decks of the 70,000-tonner when in due time she is
launched !

Here is a dignified and beautiful figure — a queen,
Marie of Rumania. The lady passengers that trip
were all agog with excitement, having a real queen on
board. They did not see much of her, however. She

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kept a good deal to her own suite, occupied with her
literary work. And she was returning from a tour
of the States that had not brought her much happiness.
As a matter of fact, her visit was rather bungled by the
people who organized it. She appeared to me to be
thoroughly tired out when she came on board, but the
trip over did her good and she looked much better
on arrival at Cherbourg, where, by the way — as
though her journeyings could not be smooth at any
point — it was blowing hard and I had to dodge about
for some time awaiting a lull before I could enter the
harbour.

But while their distinguished mother kept very much
in the background, the young Prince and Princess,
her two children who accompanied her, joined in the
social amenities on board and made themselves very
popular.

Another world figure ; she comes to vision from a
far more distant past — Madame Melba. That was
when I was a senior officer in the Saxonia and she
crossed from Boston to Liverpool. I remember her
chiefly because of an incident which shows her
graciousness. My small experience of her makes it
easy for me to believe the tales that were told of her
when she died — how she would give generously of
her help to struggling artists ; how she would give her
luxurious car away to a fellow-singer just because he
hadn’t one.

On the Saxonia Melba had a suite on the promenade
deck and it was her custom to sing to the four walls

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of her cabin every afternoon. Naturally this was
soon passed round and early one evening one or two
other officers and myself tiptoed to her cabin portholes
and, crouching there, listened to that gloriously golden
voice. One of us must have made a noise and so
revealed our presence, for her accompanist suddenly
looked up and saw us. Melba was by no means
annoyed, as she might have been. Instead, coming to
the porthole :

“ Come in,” she invited.

We went in and she favoured us to a private concert
which I shall never forget.

I also had another experience of her courtesy and
understanding years later. She came aboard my ship
in Boston during a very cold snap. Everything was
frozen up. I must explain that in cold weather we
always turn off all the water, opening up every
hydrant so that there is no water left to freeze. Before
leaving the dock an officer would see that every
hydrant was closed again before the water-service
was turned on.

Unfortunately on this occasion Melba’s trunks were
stowed in the vicinity of one of these hydrants in the
luggage hold. After leaving Boston it was discovered
something was wrong, the pressure of water used for
cleaning down on deck was not as it should have been,
and so an examination was made. We soon found
where the extra pressure had been diverted from its
proper use. It was wasting its energy through that
very hydrant beside Melba’s luggage ! For an hour

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the water had been spouting into the famous singer’s
gear. Her trunks and clothes were soaked, a large
quantity ruined beyond hope of repair.

Few ladies would have regarded the ruin that Melba
looked upon and been so perfectly sweet about it.
She just smiled and said : “ Never mind, it couldn’t
be helped.” Of course the Company compensated her
for the damage but, apart from that, I know a good
many passengers who would have wanted someone’.?
blood for the disaster.

Speaking of compensation, it might be interesting
to record that the only thing concerning the ship the
captain of a liner knows nothing about is insurance.
It is an understood rule between Insurance and Ship-
ping Companies that he shall not know what even-
tualities are “covered.” That obvdously is so that
his reports and allocation of any blame there may
be cannot be coloured or biased in favour of his
owners.

A rather tragic figure — a noted ambassador travel-
ling to Europe under the shadow of the knowledge
that his son was desperately ill. He ^v’as on my right
at table. On my left was an old friend — Mr. Arthur
Fowler, who cannot resist telling a story. He tells
one superlatively well. He is infectious wdth his quiet
droll humour. I have had him at my table a good
many times and he tells yarns all the w'ay over every
time and never repeats himself. Helen Marr had
nothing on him.

But you want the right atmosphere for a good story

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— care-free fellows who, at least for the moment, have
put their troubles behind them and are out to enjoy
a mealtime. What would happen with this inveterate
raconteur and the famous statesman who, naturally
enough, was in no mood for pleasantries ?

" Do you think I might try one ? ” Fowler whispered
to me the first day out, for he knew of the ambassador’s
worry.

“ A very mild one,” I hinted.

He edged a bit of a yarn into the conversation. We
smiled tamely. The ambassador took no notice.

Fowler told another at the next meal, a trifle more
hilarious. Our smiles ventured to broaden. The
ambassador took no notice.

But Fowler couldn’t be happy eating morosely. He
chattered and illustrated his gossip with further stories.
On the third day he recounted some episodes so
brightly with such sly humour, with an almost inimit-
able sense of grotesquerie underlying and peeking out
mischievously, that at length even the ambassador
could not refrain from awarding him the appreciation
of a smile. Fowler had broken the ice, had just for the
time being switched the grieving man’s mind from
the obsession of its fears. The party grew brighter,
the gentleman on my right joined in, Fowler I believe
tried his best to enhven his hour with us — and suc-
ceeded so well that the other guest came out of his
shadow and enjoyed the sunshine of companionship.
I am sure that worrying father was all the better for

Fowler’s tonic, taken out of himself alittle and there-

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fore more ready to meet whatever the fates had in
store for him — the worst, in this case, I was sorry to
learn afterwards.

Out of a past fog emerges the figure of Sir Robert
Borden. The fog lay like a blanket over the Mersey
while we anchored five miles from the landing-stage,
waiting for it to lift.

The Canadian Premier was fidgety, but there was
no help for it. Nothing would urge me to risk a closer
approach to the landing-stage in such conditions. The
safety of the ship must be the first consideration ;
personal convenience comes second. On one occasion
a world-renowned violinist got very excited one after-
noon as we were entering the Hudson. There was a
thick fog and we were anchored. There was reason
for his perturbation since he had an important concert
engagement that night in New York. I would have
done anything possible, but to proceed through that
blanket was not possible and I’m afraid some dis-
tinguished audience went home that night dis-
appointed.

The same with Sir Robert Borden. He told me
elaborate arrangements had been made on shore for
his speedy transport to London, where he was eagerly
awaited by the Government, This was in 1918 and
I had no doubt his journey was an urgent one. But
I couldn’t move — fog is no respecter of persons. We
did all we could. We wirelessed to the landing-stage
and a tender was sent for him. Into this he changed
and the boat nosed off, lost to our view in a moment.

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Fate must have been smiling at the endeavours of mere
man. Within half an hour the fog lifted — and we
were at the landing-stage a few minutes after Sir
Robert’s tender arrived.

Recent criticism brings to mind the figure of the
Hon. James Walker, the Mayor of New York. Of
course I know nothing about his work in that high
capacity, but I can say this : much has been said
about his “ lateness,” but he is never late in doing a
kind action. I’ve known him for years, and a better
friend, a more considerate host or appreciative guest
you could never find. The Hon. James Walker
crossed with me in the Berengaria.

A thousand figures of world-renown in varying
spheres : Lord Beaverbrook, Mr. Hearst (often mis-
understood in England ; he is not so much anti-British
as pro-American and there’s a great deal of difference).
Sir Herbert Austin (he used to tell me how Americans
laughed at his “ kid ” car, but in the end they have
adopted it), Sir Harry McGowan, Lord Weir, Lord
Marks, Sir John Cadman, Sir Eric and Sir Auckland
Geddes ; famous singers like Ghaliapin (who, in that
clipped accent of his, would talk on every subject save
music), John McGormack,Tetrazzini (you can imagine
the treat it was to have these great artists perform at
our concerts) ; stage celebrities like Sir Harry Lauder
(who wore kilts nearly all the time and always when
coming on board or landing), Gracie Fields (gay,
romping, at home in a moment with every one,
who made her debut in America from my ship),

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Evelyn Laye, Isobel Jeans, Isobel Elsom, Tom Mix,
Ronald Colman — oh ! enough names to fill a volume.

I have already mentioned that vvoiid-hgure, Mr.
Lloyd George. He once made me very' embarrassed.
Speaking generally, he was the most aflable and
pleasant of passengers, showing his “ bigness ” by the
way he mixed with all classes on board and his interest
in the organization and work of the ship. But one
morning just before we arrived in New York I was
unfortunate enough to be chief actor in an awkward
predicament. We were at breakfast. Afrs. Lloyd
George was on my right, Air. Lloyd George on my left.
The latter requested the cream for his coffee. I was
reaching for it with my left hand as it was in front of
me when at the same moment the eminent statesman
decided he could get it for himself. Our joint endeav-
ours collided, with the unhappy result that the jug
capsized, the contents finding the most unsuitable of
rests — ^in Mr. Lloyd George’s lap !

How rapidly we adapt ourselves to altered con-
ditions ! I sometimes stood and looked on the jolly
crowd of passengers. Women bejewelled and gowned
in exquisite dresses (oblivious of the coming customs),
men perfectly groomed — ^probably nowhere in the
world could you find a smarter company^ — dancing,
idling, playing cards. Every one care-free, out for
enjoyment, starting late in the day, finishing often
early in the morning. Then I would recall the little
time ago when in utter darkness w^e plunged through
the seas, alert for danger, knowing sister ships had

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sunk, and up there on the bridge, instead of the
present comforts, was a small space screened off with
canvas to shield a temporary bed. Many a night I
had slept there, ready for whatever might spring out
of the enveloping darkness.

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CHAPTER XII

THE AMERICANS

I T is only to be expected that the avei'agc stay-at-
home Englishman looks at America from an
English standpoint. If he could only sec that country
from that country’s angle he would think very
differently. Sometimes I am annoyed at the careless
and sweeping criticism, entirely uninformed, which
my fellow-countr\mieii — and women — make concern-
ing the people of the United States.

Pos.sibly few outside know the Americans better
than I do. I can count my personal friends there
by the hundreds ; I have visited them in their homes
over many years, mixed with every class on shore and
afloat, examined their institution,s, argued about
their problems and had first-hand knowledge of their
characteristics which is not vouchsafed to many
writers, who often go over on a I’ound trip and
return to write a book about that diverse people.

All these opportunities have been mine from my
youth upwards, so that I have seen the people in
course of development — an amazing, rapid growth
which explains much of the demeanour in them
that i.s apt to irritate the more insular Briton. How
many visitors to-day looking at those remarkable

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buildings that greet their eyes as they enter New
York harbour realize that thirty years ago there was
hardly such a thing as a sky-scraper ? America has
become a nation as quickly as that, and I want to
place on record here that it is with profound admir-
ation that I regard her accomplishments.

I consider it one of the really vital subjects of the
day — our attitude towards Americans and theirs to-
wards us. A proper understanding between us — I
do not mean formal political treaties but the spirit
rather than the letter of association — is the chief
plank in the platform of world peace. And I am
convinced if that platform is not soundly con-
structed it is more our fault than America’s. I do
not speak of their interference in European affairs ;
they don’t wish that and we need not hope for it ;
I am thinking that if all the rest of the world knows
that in spirit and intent America is one with us and
we with them, the influence on international affairs
would reach to every corner of the globe and affect
the plans and plots of every chancellery.

I am no politician, but every man who leaves his
country and travels in others is, consciously or not, an
ambassador either for mutual goodwill or mistrust,
and in that capacity, concerning the United States
at all events, I have played my part. I never forgot
that foreigners looking at me as an Englishman were
inclined to take me as a sample of my people, just
as they take you as you may pass through a country.
I am almost as much at home in America as in

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England, and out of all my experiences and con-
tacts with many different classes I am going to assert
this :

America has a hand of friendship ready to shoot
out to grasp Britain's — for our mutual advantage.

It is we who are half-hearted ; it is we who criticize
too much, we who arc inclined to be supercilious
with a tinge of envy mixed. Why ? Is it that we
are jealous that this nation, to whom we taught
almost everything, has outstripped us ; gone beyond,
by reason of its youthful zeal, the teacher himself?
It is not much more than thirty years ago that I
myself T,vas in a ship carrying bricks to America
— bricks all the way from England for buildings in
America ! She was also importing much of her
machiner>', iron and steel, her cotton and woollen
goods — practically cver^uhing needed in the ordinary
bu.siness of life. She developed with amazing speed ;
discovered her mineral wealth, made her own
machinery', built factories, and in the end developed
mass production, and so angered us. It created a
feeling of friction. But now we are following her ;
we, too, are adopting mass production of many things
— and by thus admitting the rightness of her methods,
can we not take the opportunity to lose old jealousies
and “ get together ” on a closer footing ?

Some of our big manufacturers are doing so, and
it’s all to the good of mutual relations. The Americans
■will still learn from us if they think we have anything
to teach them. As I parenthetically mentioned,

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they took Austin’s baby car, though goodness knows
their own output of motors is stupendous.

Now I’m not out to belittle my own country — ^very
far from it ; indeed, it is because, like millions more,
I look upon it as the greatest empire in history that I
plead for bigness in our relations with this young Ame-
rica. It will strengthen both nations. And the first
thing to do is to see them from their own standpoint.

Think what England was when she was still cen-
turies older than America, as a white nation, is to-
day. We were almost a slave-wage country. Only
half a century ago men and women all over the
country were walking miles to work in the darkness
of early morning and working all the hours of light
there were for a mean pittance of a few shillings a
week, scarcely enough to keep body and soul together.
I can remember that myself in Lancashire — can
still imagine I hear the clip-clop of their clogs as
they passed my home from 5.15 to 5.45 a.m. and
again from 5.45 p.m. to 6.15 p.m. as they trudged
their weary but smiling homeward way. America
is young, and no doubt is suffering from some of
the follies of youth ; her boundless energy runs to
other things than business production : to a lavish
existence, to over-keenness in sport, to an idealism
which, perhaps, sought results too quickly, as in the
case of Prohibition. It runs also to what we call
bragging. Let’s take that.

To our phlegmatic natures it is irritating and un-
doubtedly reacts in our intolerance towards the

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braggart. Well, while not condoning and certainly
not defending it, it is possible to understand it and
make allowance. In the first place, Americans talk
big because they think big. Theirs is a big country
— lakes, mountains, plains, trees, rivers, all big. They
build great railroads which make ours of necessity
seem pygmy ; they create great centres of industry,
their buildings are outsize, and their colleges. Their
wealth is on the colossal scale, and, by the \vay, wc
don't mind putting our finger into their rich pics and
pulling out what plunrs we can ! Then when a crash
comes — and they, too, are big — who are ^vc to blame
the pa.strycook for the sudden lack of plums ?

Surely if anyone has a right to brag a little the
American has, and be it said we are all inclined to
brag a bit, even Englishmen and those at times who
haven’t much to brag about. Moreover, behind their
big talk is a definite sense of loyalty. They are proud
of being American, and we might be a little shamed
by them instead of ashamed of them. Loyalty must
be applauded, and I for one could wish a greater
emulation of that desirable quality in our own people.

I have watched the school children over there
parade before their Stars and Stripes and salute that
flag. They are unabashed to display it on any and
every occasion : it is an honour. How many schools
are there in Great Britain where the children are
paraded before the Union Jack to salute that emblem
of union ? How many know' what the crosses are and
how the Union Jack came to be made ?

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But that is only one small aspect of their life. This
intense spirit of nationality is evidenced in many other
admirable ways. In their educational institutions, for
instance. No members of other nationalities have
donated half as much as Americans to colleges and
such-like. Over there if a man leaves college, enters
business, and is successful, he thinks nothing of giving
a million dollars or more to enrich his old college,
endowing scholarships, etc., so that other young men
may have the best education possible. No wonder
every State has line colleges, and some of them are
immense, with as many as 15,000 students.

The State schools, too, are both a credit and an
honour to the country. And what a problem educa-
tion is to them ! Peoples from all ends of the earth
have contributed their quota to make up the
125,000,000 inhabitants of the States. Millions of
these did not know English when they landed as
emigrants. What a huge undertaking to take this
conglomerate mass and mould it into one nation,
speaking one language, having in addition one
national outlook. America is doing that — and all in
a few generations.

With India very present in our minds just now, we
ought to be able to sympathize with America in her
racial troubles. Yellow, white and black — all races
form part of her population. No simple task to hold
the balance of justice between the varying rights to
meet the differing opinions of Eastern, Middle West,
West and the Southern states and still make it a land

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of the free. Comparatively it is only in recent years
that she has in any way restricted immigration, that
perhaps is why in Chicago and other big centres to-day
we Itear so much of the gangsters. They’re a bad lot ;
no doubt about that. Where have they come from ?
If you look at a police list you will find queer names,
and we may feel a trifle of pride that few of those
names are Anglo-Saxon. The scum of the world got
in before restriction, and the staggering thing is that
those who have handled the destinies of the land have
been able to build up a nation so well.

Prohibition, of course, brought all this scum to the
surface. That is a case in which the enthusiasm of
youth carried them to an extreme. A few well-
meaning folk got that 1 8th Amendment passed and
no doubt thought they had made a tremendous stride
forward in public morality — a lesson that would
astonish and, they hoped, influence the world. It
has been a fiasco, because wherever there is a prevent-
ing law there are always law-breakers who will batten
on secretly satisfying a forbidden appetite. It is, of
course, ludicrous that the chief class in America at the
moment that is entirely in favour of Prohibition Ls the
racketeers, the very people who make fortunes out
of breaking that law ! But there is this to be said :
we hear a great deal about the drinking that goes on
in America, but very little about the millions tvho do
not drink at all.

" Well, all I’ve got to say,” remarked a big manu-
facturer to me when discussing the question once, “ is

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that my workpeople show a thirty per cent, greater
efficiency since they can’t drink. They don’t because
they can’t affbrd to get it.”

That’s a side not often mentioned.

And for some time after the 1 8 th Amendment came
in many of the best people — the people who could
affbrd it — ^kept the law.

I remember going to one friend’s house and finding
there was no liquor at all served at meals, no cocktails,
no whisky. But a year later I was at that same house
and there was everything. It had become the fashion
to have secret “ hooch.” It was a bit of pride with
people that they could get it and give it to guests.
I raised my brows quizzically.

“ Yes,” my host admitted, “ we do it now. Every
one does. We don’t think it is the thing, but we have
to do it.”

There was another house I used to visit outside
New York. When drink was almost unknown I once
slipped just an 8-oz. bottle of whisky into my pocket
and handed it over. “ It might come in some day
when you have the ’flu,” I suggested. Years later
when I was there again the host solemnly told me that
he had never had occasion to touch that spirit, “ The
cork has never been drawn, Rostron,” he said ; but,
just as I was about to compliment him on his unusual
law-abiding practice, his eyes twinkled and he added :
“ The corks of a good many other bottles, however,
have been taken out since ! ”

Yet, you know, these are the people who should be

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THE AMERICANS

blamed in the first instance rather than those who
profit by their delinquency. There is graft, yes. But
if a man did not wish to get round the law the man
who supplies him would have a pretty thin time. If
the original sinner didn’t exist you 'would not have the
further evils of police who take bribes to keep their
eyes shut or the politician who secretly supports tire
racketeers in order to get their votes.

“ Make money, honestly if you can — but make it.”
That principle — or lack of principle — operates with a
good many other than the American law-breaker.
After all, where does much of the drink come from ?
How much from these islands of ours ?

Prohibition is one of many problems faciiig the
administratioir in America, and I venture to suggest
that the best thinking people over there would like
us the better if, instead of scoffing and ridiculing them,
we showed a little sympathy.

It should be easy — there is so much to admire apart
from this and other mistakes. They are so generous,
both privately and as a nation. No other country
gives aw'ay the millions they do. Think of the relief
funds they have organized and operated in all parts
of the world where they themselves have no interest
other than the call of suffering humanity. In Russia,
Poland, Armenia, Belgium — ^in almost every country
they have distributed relief in great largess.

It is because they arc children of nature, attractively
sentimental. They have not the conventions built up
through centuries, as we have, to colour their actions.

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They are not afraid to applaud or to play if they feel
like it. No considerations of “ what other people
might think ” affect them. They are more natural
than we. As individuals to individuals, a man will
say ; “ Come up to my place to dinner ” with so easy
a spontaneity that you know you are welcome. There
is no question of “ It isn’t done,” or “ But, my dear,
you don’t know anything about him.” He has met
you, you arc interested in each other — his house is
yours.

And as a nation, I have reason indeed to know of
American hospitality.

Only modesty, not lack of appreciation, forbids me
enumerating details of the amazing cordiality of my
reception when in company with my wife I was the
recipient of many honours and guest at many celebra-
tions following the rescue of the Titanic passengers.
Everything they do is so thoroughly whole-hearted.
We Britishers, too, can demonstrate our feelings, I
know, but there is a difference, and all I want to ask
is that we should seek to understand their ways just
as they try to — and do — admire ours. Those among
them, for instance, who have been honoured by an
invitation to Buckingham Palace are always impressed
by the dignity of royalty. I have been decorated by
His Majesty and was also received by President Taft,
so that I appreciate the difference between American
and British ways. The former is an impressive cere-
mony with its sentries and its full-dress courtliness,
while a visit to White House is much more like calling

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THE AMERICANS

at some big business house and asking to see the
General Manager. But can’t we admire the one
witiiout any loss of respect for the other ?

I am emphasizing these points as a plea to under-
standing. By no word would I demean my own
country. We can do what we like if we put our backs
to itj and let me tell you the Americans are the first
to admit that. “ You’ve got what we haven’t,” said
one to me not so long ago, and he enthused about
some of our qualities. “ You’ve got traditions. But
don’t let them be your master. Traditions are good
ballast but poor cargo.”

They have a high regard for our institutions.
Here’s an example. I was naturally often in America
during that long period when King George was ill.
They were as anxious as we were about his progress.
And in speaking to me about the matter I never once
heard them say : “ Your King.” It was always " The
King.” In the same way thousands of them can sing
“ God save the King,” but how' many Englishmen
can sing “ The Star-spangled Banner ” ?

I have found many Americans a bit downhearted
about us, and especially since this Government came
into power. They have a notion we ought to be more
the live wires they are. They stand amazed at the
way we let foreigners dump goods into our land.

“ We do it ourselves,” they say, “ but we don’t under-
stand why you let us.” For business — ^big business —
is their watchword. You find it in every class.

I remember once when I was in Alexandria, in the

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Carpathia, a number of American sailors came aboard
and I had a chat with them.

“ Are you going to stick it ? ” I asked them, meaning
were they going to stay at sea all their lives ?

“ No fear,” was the quick answer from one.
“ There’s nothing in it. Back to business for mine
— and make some money.”

We are apt to deride that fetish of money-getting.
But we go after it ourselves, those who have the brains
and the energy. We are inclined to decry the rich
American for his luxurious mode of life. Are they
alone in this display ? And why should not the
wealthy man spend his money in the luxury of huge
mansions in beautiful gardens, and give fabulous
prices for pictures and objets d’art ? The vendor is
selling to the highest bidder — and the vendor enjoys
the price.

The American works hard, plays hard and pays
hard.

He likes us, admires our ways. This was illustrated
the other day by a letter in all the papers from an
American staying in England who wrote almost
fulsomely about the courtesy he had encountered
everywhere on his travels here. He was looking for
the best in us. Do we look for the best in them, or
are we too ready to speak casual, careless criticism
of them and all their doings ? Especially have I
heard this in regard to their officials.

“ I think the Custom officers here are bears,” I
heard one Englishwoman remark, just because one

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THE AMERICANS

of them had caught her trying to squeeze through
with half a dozen silk frocks on her. It reminds me
of an incident I had to laugh over once. I was going
ashore in New York one evening to keep a dinner
appointment. It was very warm and I carried a light
overcoat on my arm. At the gates an official came
up to me and took my coat, unfolding it and refolding
it. I really thought he was just putting it straight
for me, but soon found he was giving me the “ once
over ” to see if I carried anything dutiable. He
completed his search. It was the first time I had ever
suffered such an examination, but I made no objection,
and when the Custom officer had run his hands all
over me, with a nod he indicated I could pass. Dur-
ing the examination I did not say a word. When
completed, I mentioned who I was and that I had
never before been subjected to such a search, and,
dumbfounded, he raised his cap and apologized most
profusely.

“ It’s quite all right,” I answered affably. " You
were only doing your duty.” Other officials near-by
who knew me were fidgeting, but showed relief at
my answer to his apologies.

We parted quite good friends.

That same trip the chief engineer was subjected to
a similar experience. He came back to the ship
fuming.

“ What’s the trouble ? ” I asked.

“ Why, that confounded Customs officer dared to
search me at the gate.”

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“ Well ? What did you do ? ”

He was a bit sheepish and it came out that he had
offered protest. That made the officer extra eager
— ^perhaps suspicious. His search was very thorough,
and when it was explained to him who the chief
was it made no difference. Whereupon I told the
chief my experience and my answer to the officer’s
apologies.

There was another time that search parties boarded
us. My steward came to my cabin and told me they
were there — ^looking everywhere to see if they could
find liquor.

“ All right. Let them search ; they are entitled
to,” I told him.

Search they did. They came to my cabin and
thoroughly went over it. I made no protest ; why
should I ? And when a little later a more responsible
official apologized that his men had gone over my
room I assured him I didn’t mind. It was just a
matter of understanding the other fellow’s position.
He was doing his job as he saw it, that was all. And
if a man might have had cause for annoyance I had,
for I was ever studiously careful about never con-
travening the country’s rules. I always respected the
three-miles’ limit most scrupulously. There have been
times, indeed, when the ship has been within the
restricted area and, through fog or other reason, has
had to anchor for a whole night. No amount of
persuasion would ever induce me to have drink sold
on board through that night if we were within the

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zone — all “ bars ” were locked and sealed when the
legal limit was reached.

These Custom officers have a difficult task and it’s
up to us to help rather than offer stupid interference
and indulge petty pique. There are hundreds of
people using all their wits to defeat them in their
work, sneaking things in, apart from drink. One case
came to my knowledge, showing to what lengths some
will go to cheat the customs. The authorities, “ from
information received,” were aware that dope was
being run. They had their suspicions of a particular
ship — foreign. But search as they might they could
not trace the stuff. One trip the vessel was really
combed ; the officials went over every inch of her
as far as they could. Nothing ! They shrugged and
gave it up ; their information must be wrong.

On the way off, one of the searching party, an
inspector, was walking along an alley when something
caught his coat and tore it. He pulled up and turned
round. His jacket sleeve had caught on a nail and
the nail had drawn out a piece of the panelling. It
was a secret cupboard and inside was the dope they
were looking for !

Occasionally one hears American sportsmanship
criticized. Read and remember what many of our
leading sportsmen have to say. I talked about this
with Sir Malcolm Campbell after he had won the
world’s land speed record with the " Bluebird. ” And
also I can give you the opinions of several others :
Mr. Scott Payne, for instance, and the late Sir Henry

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Segrave — all have the highest opinion of them as
genuine, clean sportsmen.

The Americans are as keen to win as the people
of any other country. They are a little more
thorough : training with them is a fetish. Should
we grumble that they try a bit harder than we do ?
But if they are beaten they do not stint their applause
to the victor. They give honour, respect, encourage-
ment — lavishly, as they give everything else. In sport
there are regrettable incidents there as well as else-
where, but in comparison no more there than in our
own country. I have never heard them kick against
us and they naturally don’t like to be kicked.

It is absurd to quiz them about their speech. For
want of a national term it is called English. It may
not be our English, but we should feel honoured that
they have retained the term. Do you expect an
Oxford accent when they have had to educate millions
of new-comers who on arrival could not speak a single
word of English ? The fact that the country has taken
them in and taught them a universal language and
fused them into any sort of a united nation is remark-
able. In the same way we should no longer refer to
them as “ our cousins.” They are not. They are a
nation unto themselves, built from every other nation
on earth, and I for one can appreciate that urge of
patriotism in a man who boasts that he is “ one
hundred per cent. American.”

Nations have always risen following the course of
the sun — China, Persia, Rome, Western Europe : the

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next Step was America. That does not mean the
British Empire is “ done.” It isn’t. We are passing
through a bad time, but if we put our backs into it
we shall pa.ss through it. The King long ago issued
the clarion call : “ Wake up, England ! ” Believe
me, no one on earth will be glad to see this Empire
rouse itself and find its real strength more than the
American.

As I said at the outset, his hand is out ; he wants
our friendship, tie has no sympathies that are against
us. He won’t make treaties with us, but he doesn’t
want to put his finger in our pie.

He wants nothing from us save understanding.
That ought to be forthcoming. What barrier there
is between us is raised by our supercilious intolerance
of his small foibles. If my small weight has helped
to push that obstruction aside, I have not written
in vain.

CHAPTER XIII

“THE LINER SHE’S A LADY”

T hat line of Kipling’s often runs through my
head when I think of the Mauretania. During
these reminiscences I have spoken of many happenings
on her decks. Let me tell you something about the
ship herself

She’s a lady. To my view she is the most beautiful
ship ever afloat. With all her largeness she has the
graceful lines of a yacht. In fact, if you glance at
the photograph of her in her white and green when a
hospital ship, she looks just like some huge, luxurious
yacht. And what glory surrounds her career ! In
peace and war she has played a great part and is
still one of the greyhounds of deep waters. It is true
she has recently lost to the Bremen the blue riband of
the Atlantic, but for years she held it and to-day she
keeps time like an express train ; to-day, though she
is over twenty- three years old — quite middle-aged !

Gome aboard. If by chance you have travelled on
her, I am bold enough to think you will enjoy another
look round ; perhaps your experience of her was
confined of necessity to her decks and saloons and
cabins. But if you have not walked her planks, look
at the grace of her. She is big and luxurious, but

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those features are not exclusively hers ; indeed, there
are many liners larger. The Berengaria for instance,
my last command.

But the Mauretania was built for speed as well as
comfort. I knew the day I set out to make the record
that she could do it. She already had created the
fastest time on the shorter run, away back in 1910,
from New York to Ireland — four days ten hours and
forty minutes. What I was after was the record for
the New York to Cherbourg crossing.

It was in August, 1924, and no one knew of the
intention except Mr. Cockburn, the chief engineer,
and myself. No point in circulating the intention,
because anything might happen to interfere with our
project. Fog, for instance — indeed, wc did run into
a hazy spell when tliere was a question of proceeding
at full speed. Our view was, however, that it was
but a temporary inconvenience, and we were right :
it soon lifted.

Except for that, we had fine weather, light breezes
and a smooth sea.

We knew from the outset— the Chief and I — that
we were doing it. Our first day’s run was a record.
So was the second. One or two seasoned tra%'ellers
began to raise their brows in surprise, for, remember,
the run is always public property — the sw'eep each day
is won on the official figure. In that pool, apart from
ten numbers around the normal day's figure, someone
often buys the “ high field ” and the ” low field,” i.e.
anything above the actual numbers auctioned and

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anything below. The man who had the “ high field ”
was winning.

Passengers began to sit up and take notice. On the
third day the run was higher than ever before.

“ I say, are you out to create a record passage ? ”
a man at my table asked me that night,

“ Oh no ; just out to do our best, that’s all,” I
replied.

But they knew all right. The next day we still held
on, the figures were still high and they noticed we
carried on in spite of the haze which that day narrowed
the visibility. Out of the mist loomed a four-masted
sailing ship. She just lolled up into view and in a few
minutes rolled back into the mist. Not many barques
like her about nowadays. She brought back visions
of my early experiences in sail. Then and now ! A
windjammer almost becalmed, and what was the
world’s fastest liner making a record run ! We must
have been a fine sight to those on board that barque,
just as she stood out for a little while beautiful to us
as we sped by.

Excitement grew on board. Naturally every
member of the crew was interested, but their
enthusiasm was nothing compared with that of the
passengers. Every day when the run was posted there
was a crowd as intent as watchers of a horse-race,
and at all hours of the day and night little throngs
gathered about the rail watching the water swishing
past far beneath. Lots of wagers were made for
varying amounts, and I believe everyone was as

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“ THE LINER SHE’s A LADY ”

pleased as I and the Chief were when that bit of
haze lifted.

The progress of the ship was the chief entertainment
that voyage when once it was obvious we were out for
the record, and old travellers were comparing notes
almost hourly. When at length we arrived in sight of
land it was certain we had made the fastest crossing
ever set up, and as soon as we stopped we were able
to answer all inquiries with the information that the
official time — it is taken from the Ambrose Channel
Lightship to the moment of stopping in Cherbourg
— ^was five days one hour, showing an at'erage speed
for the entire voyage of 26.25 knots — roughly 30 miles
an hour.

Every one was delighted. That trip remained in
many a memory apart from my own ; ever since
I have repeatedly had passengers come up to me and
remarking : “I was with you. Captain, when you
made the record crossing in the Mauretania.”

From that day until the first voyage of the bigger
German Bremen in 1929 the Mauretania easily held the
record. Many other vessels attacked it, but none
came anywhere near her. The only one which really
rivalled her was her sister ship, the Lusitania^ familiarly
known as the “ Lucy,” whose brutal and unnecessary
loss was so much deplored by every decent person.

While on this subject of speed one or two illustrations
come to mind. I have already told how during the
war we had to reduce speed in a seaway for con-
venience and safety of our escort destroyers, and

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sometimes in heavy seas and bad weather our escort
had to return to port. And I recounted how we
injured our steering-gear when we were filled with
American troops ready to come over into the firing
line. But I did not mention in that latter instance
one fact which is strikingly illustrative of the ship’s
speed.

After those troops had been transhipped we were
held up in dock for over a week while repairs were
carried out. The troops had gone several days before
we were ready again for sea. We then took on a new
complement and set off. I was naturally distressed
at the delay that had been occasioned and from the
start went " all out ” all the way over. As a result
we reached our destination and disembarked our
troops a full two days before the transports which had
left New York several days ahead of us !

It gives not only an idea of the ship’s speed in com-
parison with some other vessels, but also is an illumin-
ating commentary on the value of such a ship in time
of war. She was a real bulwark during that period
of direst need, and it makes me think that British
people don’t appreciate the great honour of owning
such a vessel. America knows more about the Maure-
tania than English people, they praise her more,
admire her, use her, recognize her qualities and her
achievements. Yet it is Britain she typifies, not
America — ^the Britain that stands for efficiency and
reliability and the highest flights in wonderful work-
manship. Considering we are essentially a mari-

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“ THE LINER SHe’s A LADY

time nation, I iiavc often deplored the lack of
patriotism and pride that ownership of a ship like
the Mauretania should inspire, and if anything I have
said helps to create an interest in our merchant navy
I am well rewarded.

But even the speeds already referred to were not her
best.

That was achier'cd one day on another occasion
when I received an S.O.S. from a ship called the
Laleham. It did not produce the dramatic climax of
the Titanic disaster, but there is never a call for aid
in mid-ocean that does not provoke the tingle of great
excitement accompanied by the urgent desire to bring
aid to the stricken.

For that, after all, is the first creed of those who use
the sea — comradeship. Wc may be competitors in
business, vying with each other for business and for
records, but in face of ultimate danger and at the
call of help sailors are one fraternity, and never by
any chance ignore an opportunity to succour those
in distress. Often have I received requests for help
other than because the calling ship is in peril. There
have been numerous occasions when illness or accident
has happened on ships at sea which have not the
necessary equipment for dealing with the troubles.
A call has come sometimes from hundreds of miles
away. It may be that the captain wants only to know
if he is treating some case of sickness in the right way.
Our surgeon has either agreed or wirelessed advice
for other treatment. At other limes trouble more

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serious has demanded operation or maybe amputation.
These things cannot be done except by thoroughly
qualified men with all the requisite implements.
Occasionally I have altered courses and steamed to
the vicinity, and once at least I recollect when fortun-
ately we were on the spot — ^fortunately, since the other
ship had no wireless,

It was one evening in mid- Atlantic, and we sighted
her — a barque with signals flying. I made up to
the vessel to read his signals and found he wanted
surgical assistance as one of the crew had had a bad
accident.

I stopped the Mauretania and lay to, sending a boat
over with the surgeon to see what could be done.
The boat was away over an hour, and on returning
on board the surgeon made his report, had done
everything possible. We offered to bring the patient
on board so that we could quickly reach land, whereas
the sailing ship might be weeks away from a port.
But he preferred to stay on his ship.

And once we ourselves had to seek aid. That was
a curious incident that I might mention en passant.
We had on board a dozen snakes, six of them
poisonous. They were being taken to some zoo. A
keeper, of course, was with them. On the second
night out one of these reptiles died, and the following
morning the keeper was in the act of taking the carcass
from the pen when he was bitten by one of its poisonous
brethren. Now we carry all sorts of queer travellers,
but not often does the surgeon have to handle a case

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” THE LINER SHe’S A LADY ”

of snake-bite. He, at once, attended the man and did
what he thought was best. But snake poison is some-
thing of a special study, and he suggested we might
get expert opinion if that were possible. So we sent
a wireless to the curator of the Zoo in New York,
explaining the position, the nature of the snake and
the treatment that had so far been applied and asked :
was this the best we could do for the sufferer?

“ Your treatment correct,” came back the answer,
and the man duly recovered.

What a sidelight on the difference between modern
conditions at sea and the old windjammer days !
Whatever was done then was carried out by the
captain — no doctor at all, mark you — and no one
nearer probably than a couple of months to bring
more professional aid.

Yet there were we, 1,200 miles from land, able to
get the world’s best advice. And we received that
curator’s answer within seven minutes of sending out the
request /

All this time the Laleham is waiting ! Immediately
on receipt of her S.O.S. I turned my ship at once.
Her position was 180 miles away. It was probable
that there was shipping in closer proximity than I
was, but I interviewed the chief engineer, explained
the circumstances, and away he went to get all possible
speed out of the ship — a nasty sea on at the time too.
The Laleham was a cargo steamer, British, and her
message stated that all her boats had been washed
away and she was on her beam-ends.

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For several hours I held on the course and then
happily received a message that the British tanker
Shirvan was in the vicinity and had rescued the crew.
As the crew were saved it was useless proceeding out
of our course any farther, so we headed for New York.

I mention this incident, not because it is specially
out of the ordinary run of operations at sea, but
because, during that dash to the rescue, the Mauretania
had a chance of really stretching her legs and showing
what the fastest of all the ocean greyhounds could do.
Until that day she had never exceeded 27.4 knots,
while her recognized speed was 25J, but we never
went quite so fast as we did then.

This liner is not only a lady, but a very decora-
tive one. Her adornments are such as you will
rarely find even in the most stately homes of England.
She has the handsomest woodwork in the world,
fashioned and carved so wonderfully that it is the
envy of connoisseurs. I have seen millionaires —
especially Americans — ^regarding it with envy. I
fancy some of them would part with a goodly portion
of their wealth to transfer it to their own homes.

Her cost may not seem enormous in these days of
high prices. It was £1,750,000, but that does not
represent her worth to-day. You could treble that
figure to find her present value. A good deal has been
done to her since first her 72,000 horse-power engines
were installed. For one thing, she was coal-fuelled
then, and there is a story about her change over to oil.

It was in July, 1925, and one Wednesday morning,

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while I was peacefully sleeping at home in Liverpool,
where I then lived, my son burst into the room thrust-
ing a paper into my hands and saying : “ Here, read
that”

The headline leapt at me. “ Mauretania is on fire.”

At 9.30 I w'as at the office. The Marine Super-
intendent and I went in to see the General Manager.
It was true ; down in Southampton the ship was on
fire. He instructed us to go at once and report the
damage.

I am afraid we gloomily expected to see the V’essel
burned out, though how a fire could have started while
lying in dock was more than I could understand ;
there had been no sign of it, you may be sure, when I
left her the previous evening.

She w^as not destroyed, as we now know', but one
of the sections under the dining-room had been pretty
well gutted. The firemen had kept the damage to
th at and we were duly grateful . But it was sufficiently
extensive to make it impossible to go to sea. At
least that was my view. The Company did suggest
that the portion might be boarded up — ^there was no
deep-seated injury w'hich made the vessel unseaworthy
— but knowing something of the psychology of pas-
sengers, I couldn’t imagine a shipload of them being
comfortable with the evidence of a fire constantly
before their eyes. We also found it would not have
been possible to utilize the lower dining-room as the
floor (deck) had been set up with the heat below.
Just because, contrary to the most stringent rules, a

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silly shore man had started cleaning some carpets on
board with benzine and somehow got it ignited, that
great vessel was to be laid up for months. And
sometimes folk have thought me a stickler for
discipline !

Well, I took her to Newcastle, and they say an ill
wind blows someone a bit of good ; at all events, the
directors seized this opportunity to change her from
a coal- to an oil-burning ship. Oil is the better fuel ;
it made her faster. You get varying revolutions of the
engines from coal because the supply cannot be
absolutely regular, seeing it is applied by hand labour,
while oil is steady. It makes a difference of several
revolutions per hour, and that counts over a day.
It’s more costly, however, for though the Mauretania
burned over i,ooo tons of coal per day and about
750 tons of oil, the latter is three times as expensive,
being something like three pounds a ton. That means
a daily bill of ^(^2,500 for fuel alone.

I remember the first crossing after her refitting. I
naturally wanted to see what she could do under the
new conditions. She was making over 25 knots when
we were well out in the Atlantic, and we had sea right
ahead with a fresh westerly breeze. I had been on
the bridge most of the afternoon but had an arrange-
ment to take tea with some people. At a quarter to
four I went to keep the appointment. Tea was on
the table in the upper foyer, and we were gossiping,
when I felt a sudden change in the wind. It was
coming through the starboard door and immediately

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THE LINER SIIe’s A LADY

caught my attention. Since the wind was riglit ahead
there should have been no extra draught on one side,
I knew therefore the vessel had for some reason veered
from her proper course.

I said nothing, but wondered — ^wondered more when
I noticed the throb of the engines had ceased ; then
the way of the ship fell olf.

Now one of the duties that falls to a captain’s lot
is not to create any alarm ; on the contrary, to do
everything to allay it. So I did not jump up, but sat
there, knowing, at all events, whatever had happened,
there was no immediate danger. In a couple of
minutes I saw an officer running towards us. I put
up my hand to warn him to keep silence and, making
an excuse, joined him. Then I learned that we had
dropped a propeller and a specially-arranged governor
had automatically stopped the engines. Those
passengers afterwards expressed surprise that we had
taken it all so calmly, but even the loss of a propeller,
I suppose, is all in the day’s job at sea.

Not that it makes no difference. Of the four pro-
pellers on the ship only the two inner ones were
available for purposes of manoeuvring. It was one
of these we had dropped, and you can imagine how
awkward it was to handle that large ship when we
came to port with one propeller, giving her a side-
ways tendency which had to be corrected by the
rudder.

She was not the first ship I commanded tliat W'as
fitted ’ivith turbines. That was the Camania, but the

HOME FROM THE SEA

latter vessel was a try-out for the later and bigger
vessels. The Gunard Company naturally wanted to
hold the blue riband for England, and no expense or
effort was spared to that end. The Mauretania was
the result, and valiantly she justified all the hopes
reposed in her. Many passengers in those days would
travel on no ship other than the Mauretania or Lusitania,
As evidence of this let me recount one incident.

It was once when we were leaving Cherbourg. I
learned the facts afterwards, for I saw only the finish
of what was really an exciting experience.

It seems a saloon passenger quietly walked into our
Paris office wanting to get the ship from Cherbourg.

“ The boat train left two hours ago, sir,’* he was
informed.

“ Perhaps I might fly,” suggested the passenger.

Our people made inquiries but found, after a
short time, that it was impossible to arrange for
an aeroplane. The would-be traveller shrugged.
“ Then I must go by car,” he murmured.

He went out and obtained the fastest car he could
and set off. It’s quite a bit of a run from Paris to
Cherbourg and he overhauled that train a good deal.
Not quite, however, and as his car pulled up at the
dock he found the tenders had left the quay and
were actually alongside the liner, embarking the
passengers.

Still unperturbed, he hired a motor-boat and,
racing out of the harbour, managed to join the pilot
boat. From this he transferred to the last tender just

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leaving the ship’s side. The gang-plank had actually
been removed, but the crew replaced it and,
unbothercd, he stepped on board.

That man was lucky, for we make no waits, keeping
to a time-table that, as I have said, might be envied
by some railways. Which reminds me of a cartoon
Mr. Tom Webster drew of me once. It showed me
on the bridge of the Mauretania, and underneath he
wrote: “ Captain Rostron catching the 3.15.” When
anyone sees it they want explanations. It really puts
on record that fact already mentioned that the ship
ran so closely to time that I practically always — save
for extreme hindrance through fog or other weather
vagaries — ^managed in those days to get ashore in time
to catch the same train — the 3.15 — for Liverpool.

Nine years I had the Mauretania. We never let each
other down. Through fog, rain, snow, calm, gale,
frost, she always came smiling through, and it was a
sore trial to leave her. Just before we parted there
occurred what to me was a memorable night.

We w'ere on our way back from New York, the first
week of July, 1926. A large number of friends were
crossing that trip, but I hadn’t seen much of them as
on the Friday it set in foggy and I was a good deal on
the bridge. It would be about 1.30 on Saturday
morning when the blanket rolled away. I wasn’t
sleepy, so did not immediately turn in. Instead, I
ordered a cup of coffee to be brought up to the bridge
and stood drinking it while talking about the weather
to the senior officer of the watch. We were on the

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weather side, when I saw the wireless officer groping
his way in the dark.

“ Yes ? Do you want me ? ” I called out, more
to give him direction than anything else.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and seemed a trifle excited.
“ I’ve just received the ‘ news ’ (for the daily paper
which is published on board) and — could you come
into your chart-room, sir ? ”

I supposed he had some special reason to want me
to read the day’s news in the middle of the night,
so in I went. I commenced reading the bulletin at
the top, but he interrupted.

“ That’s not it. Here, sir — here ! ” pointing to an
item lower down.

“ Liner Captain Honoured,” I read, and there, to
my surprise, saw my name.

That was how I received the news that His Majesty
had conferred on me the honour of Knighthood,
creating me K.B.E.

You may, perhaps, knowing something of the usual
procedure in such cases, and wonder how it came
about that this was the first intimation I had. It is
customary for the suggested recipient of a title to be
acquainted with the intention before the Prime Minis-
ter sends forward the name for the King’s approval.
Only afterwards did I learn that Mr. Baldwin had
written to me. His letter had arrived in Liverpool
the very day I had sailed — a fortnight previously —
and there it was when I returned, unopened.
Evidently he had acted on the old adage that silence

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spells consent, and so ihei’e was I suddenly and all
unsuspectingly with a title to my name. I have been
fortunate enough to receive many favours, but none
have given me greater pleasure than to have one from
His Majesty.

Just previously I had had the rare distinction of
having the Freedom of the City of New York bestowed
on me, and one day while we were lying in Cherbourg
Harbour, the French Government had made me
Chevalier of the Legion of Honour ; and in mentioning
that few men in the Merchant Navy have been more
honoured than I have been, I want very sincerely to
say that whatever credit has caused this approval is
very largely due to the officers and men who have
served under me. To them I extend my appreciation
and thanks for very splendid and loyal service.
Always, in peace time at any rate, we were a happy
ship.

By breakfast time that July day naturally enough
the news was round the ship, and we made rather a
gala day of it. Several of my friends on board, having
regard to the recent atmospheric conditions, thought
it a good joke to christen me the “ Foggy Knight.”

The next day was another gala occasion, for it was
July 4th, a very important date. It was the birthday
of the Independence of the United States and also
the birthday of the Cunard Company (just ninety
years old). At the double event the best orators on
board had a field day, and some of the speeches were
excellent, while other orators confined themselves

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to a very few words, such as : “ Same again, please ! ”
It was always a jolly party held those nights under
three inspiring emblems — ^the Union Jack, the Stars
and Stripes, and the grand old Cunard flag.

That very same month I stood on the dock at
Southampton and saw my old ship leave without me.
It was a bit of a wrench ; but the call came and had
to be obeyed.

I was to take over the Berengaria, and my first
impression on joining was the hugeness of her : how
small the Mauretania in comparison. However, within
a couple of days I was quite at home and settled
down.

I found the Berengaria the most comfortable ship
I was ever in. The ship’s company consisted of as
fine a lot of men as anyone could wish to command.
And very soon the “ Berengaria smile ” was Atlantic
wide and a feature of the ship, hard to resist or even
miss.

For over four years I had command of this splendid
vessel, and from August ist, 1928, I had the honour
of being appointed Commodore of the Cunard Fleet.

It was the top of my particular ladder and, as
I climb down, tuck it away in the garden shed, and
retire into the welcome place of a happy domestic
circle, it may be interesting to look across the years
and observe some of the remarkable changes that have
occurred at sea as between Then and Now.

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CHAPTER XIV

THEN AND NOW

F rom being an apprentice in a crack full-rigged
sailing ship to the commander of one of the
world’s biggest liners is a big jump — and the stride
covers much of the romance of travel by sea.

In the ’eighties it was something of an adventure to
cross the ocean ; now it is little but a jolly holiday.
Then people went because they had to ; now they
go because they like to.

In the same way to the young sailor his dreams of
the future always centred on beautiful sailing ships,
long days in tropic seas, the shouted orders to clew
up sail or man the lee fore brace ; now his ambitions
are to wear gold braid and walk the decks of a luxury
hner.

Steam to us in the old days was anathema. I can
recall very \'ividly how when, on the Conway lying in
the Mersey, the first really big steamer was towed past
us. How w'e scoffed at her ungainly appearance,
reviled her lack of “ lines.” We blessed her, too,
because the senior boys were given extra night watches
— to raise an alarm if the mammoth chunk of ugliness
broke from her moorings and drifted down on us.
That ship was the famous Great Eastern^ then the largest

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vessel afloat — so great according to available tackle
in those days that there had been excitement about
the very fact that she was safely launched. After
innumerable delays and difficulties, Tangye’s, of
Birmingham, constructed the gear for the launching,
and the papers at the time were full of the marvellous
accomplishment. Tangye’s themselves afterwards
used to say : “ We launched the Great Eastern and
the Great Eastern launched us.” It made their reputa-
tion.

She was the leviathan of her time but, Jove ! she
was no beauty, and certainly we boys much preferred
to see clipper sailing ships in the docks along the river.
Tall tapering masts filled the skyline in those days
and the banks of the river teemed with shipyards.
Practically every week a new vessel would be launched,
and noise of riveting could be heard all day and often
throughout the night. A hive of industry, a city of
prosperity — and a world of romance to me.

It was the chief delight of the cadets to get “ day
leave ” so that we could mouch round the docks
and go on board these ships. They seemed redolent
of foreign ports — often they had brought cargoes of
spices and tea and coffee from distant lands — and our
youthful hearts glowed and were impatient for the
time when we should be through our schooling and
be able to set sail and see the world. It came soon
enough.

What a “ drift ” from then to now ! Long days of
calm come back to mind when we lay on a glassy sea

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THEN AND NOW

with not a breath of air. Even thrn v.Ikti some
steamer would pa'-s ns, we had no envy of it ; that
was not sailing as we imagined it. The steamer
brought but little respect and I can recall a day when
I stood on the dock side in Port Pirie, Australia, and
wondered how a small dirty steamer I gazed at —
about 1 ,500 tons — could have managed to steam all the
way there from England.

But steam was coming into its own when I was a
boy. My lot was sail, which meant voyages lasting
half a year with weevily bi-'^cuits for chief diet, our
pound and pint and sometimes not the one or the
other, working all hours of light and dark, straining
to the last ounce to help the ship come through but
sometimes one couldn’t withhold admiration for the
new liners as they steamed majestically into harbour.
The Gunard Company's Etruria and Umbria were
afloat then, the White Star Germanic and Britannic, and
the Inman City of Paris and City of Jfew York, to
mention only a few. Proud ships — yet what pygmies
in comparison to the great liners of to-day ! England
had the cream, though the United States and Ger-
many, especially the latter, were showing keen
competition. And not many years were to elapse
— though then we would not have believed it — before
the masts of the “ tall ships ” were to be displaced
by smoking funnels ; the romance of ocean travel to
give way to the hard grind of business necessity.

I can even now re-live an hour when in the old
Redgauntlet we sailed dowm Channel with a good stiff

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north-east breeze and passed a steamer of 2,000 tons
— outsailed her, for we were making twelve knots to
her ten. With a sort of pity we regarded her belching
smoke spoiling the clean surface of the water. And
even when I reached the day that I reported to the
Chief Superintendent of the Gunard Line, only half
my heart was in the job. I didn’t take to the notion
of steam.

To show how I jibbed, let me tell you of the first
steamer I was appointed to. It belonged to a Liver-
pool company who ran a regular cargo service to
Boston — cargo and cattle.

Immediately on reporting on board I went down to
my cabin and, having tidied up a bit, left for the deck.
I wanted to see what a cattle steamer looked like at
close quarters. All I saw was a great opening of a
hatch with half a dozen cargo falls working from as
many winches with a noise like nothing I had ever
heard before in a ship. They were being driven for
all they were worth since the ship was due to leave
the next day on the noon tide.

Fearful doubts began to take shape in my mind.
I walked on moodily. The decks were littered with
hatches, beams and all manner of strange impedi-
menta ; everything dirty, everything apparently in
disorder. I came to another dark opening of a hatch.
More winches grinding — ^it seemed there were thou-
sands trying to make themselves heard all over Liver-
pool. It was terrible in my eyes — ^and ears !

I stood there thinking for a few minutes. Then I

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made one of those decisions which affect one’s whole
life. I decided this cattle steamer was not for me.
Down I went to what was to have been my cabin.
I put on my overcoat and with my stick in my hand
walked ashore. There I sent a wire to the owners
regretting I could not sail. What a relief it was !
Instead of going to sea that night I went home, and
had a week’s holiday and even then felt I hadn’t
ridded my system of the reek of that cattle steamer.

Suppose I had stuck it and sailed — how different
everything might have turned out, for it was because
I jibbed I happened to join the Cunard.

One of the greatest changes at sea has been in com-
munications. Occasionally when in sail the captain
of an outward-bounder would signal a homeward-
bound ship asking if he would take mail back for us.
The reply was always in the affirmative and then we
rushed to our cabins joyfully to write a letter home.
Both ships hove-to. Out swung a boat manned by
willing hands and in it were a few buckets filled with
potatoes and perhaps cabbages to pay expenses and
incidentally to give a treat to the other ship’s officers
and crew who probably had not tasted fresh vegetables
for weeks. Signals would be exchanged at parting,
and each vessel trimmed their yards and went aw^ay
on their different courses.

Now we are in touch with the entire world wherever
we may be. It must be fully eight years ago that I first
spoke by wireless telephone over a hundred miles to
the captain of the Olympic and, later, I talked from

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mid-Atlantic to Mr. F. A. Derry at the Gunard head
office in Paris. Now conversation from mid-ocean
is common. A famous author or actor will sit in his
cabin and be interviewed by a man looking down
on the Fleet Street traffic.

By the way, it may not be known, even in this age
of marvels, that an operator using Morse or other code
can be identified by another.

“ Hullo ; there’s a new man on at So-and-So,” I
have heard our officer say. He recognized that the
usual operator was not working ; these men can
distinguish each other’s touch as readily as you and
I can recognize the speaking voice of a friend over the
telephone. During the war an expert at Wireless
headquarters in France told me they were in the
habit of picking up the communications sent out from
Zeppelins in flight to- their base in Germany. They
could recognize each airship by its wireless “ note ”
and by that were able to know what ships were in
flight, just where they were, and send the information
to London about the very “ Zeps ” which were even
then attacking the city.

Then again, in sail we were entirely out of touch
with all happenings on land for months at a time.
A modern passenger pokes his head out of his cabin
at eight o’clock and takes his daily paper from the bell
boy just as naturally as the resident in Suburbia —
the paper which has been edited, set up and printed
on board during the night and contains information
just as recent and up to date as the London daily the

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business man reads on the way to his office. And
speaking of the business man, his affairs are no longer
necessarily left behind him when he steps on an
Atlantic liner. There is a sort of Stock Exchange on
board ; shares can be bought and sold. And very
often a transaction is carried out from mid-ocean with
an office in New York or London, contact between the
passenger and his broker being established in under
three minutes.

The wireless is used to an enormous extent for
private messages. The Cunard Company own their
own installation and in the course of a voyage as much
as £"]00 will be taken in payment for messages sent
by passengers. That is only one more convenience
that time has brought to improve life at sea.

There are countless others making for comfort. The
latter are all unrealized by the passengers, but if they
could go back a quarter of a century they would very
soon perceive the advantages they have in comparison
in the matter of food and warmth and opportunities
for enjoyment. When I pause to consider the electric
heating and lighting of the present liners, my mind
goes back to the days in windjammers when we had
nothing but candles and swinging oil lamps — ^wLich
always stank. And that lamp comprised the heating
arrangements too !

And food. I can see myself now as an apprentice
dodging along a slippery deck which was tilted at a
severe angle, trying to balance my mess kid, holding
it above my head when a sea came over the side as

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I made an uncertain and precarious way from the
galley to our quarters under the poop. Sometimes
we boys would take five minutes to make that short
passage when the ship was labouring. Half-way along
the deck we would perchance ship a heavy sea.
There was nowhere to shelter ; we had to get our
legs across the spare spar that was lashed fore and
aft on deck and hold on for dear life, our concern
the greater for the safety of the “ kid ” we held aloft
out of reach, we hoped, of the water, than for our-
selves. Between the crashing seas we would make
sporadic dives aft until at length, at the entrance
to our berth, a messmate would help us in with our
precious cargo while we stepped hurriedly over the
two-feet-high washboards and slammed to the door
behind us, Anxious times forsooth, since, if we cap-
sized our “ kid ” en route, there was no going back
for more ; there was no more and we went hungry.
All we had was the bare Board of Trade allowance
which was scarcely enough to keep body and soul
together. Except in one way.

We boys used to bring aboard a chest of extra grub
when we started on a voyage and on one ship there
was a rascally old steward. Now our only hope for
extra rations was to obtain some of the stuff left over
from the cabin where the officers messed. This we
got from the steward. But the latter was wise to our
sea chests and their contents and he developed a
business instinct that might have made him so success-
ful on shore that it would have landed him in gaol. Oh

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yes, we could have a whack of grub if . . . and he
would mention that he could do with a new shirt or
something. The bargain was struck — we lost our
spare shirts, but we got a bit of extra food. Tm afraid
our mothers would have been surprised if they could
have seen that steward’s washing when it h un g out
on the line to dry. “ Why, that’s yours — and that —
and that,” they would have cried out — and they
would have been perfectly right. We used to admire
our nice clean clothes — on the steward’s line.

Even water was precious then. It was served out
each day except in bad weather when it was measured
out to last several days. That was because the pipe
from the fresh-water tank led up on deck and was there
fitted with a brass cap. Since this had to be undone
in order to get the water and, knowing full well that
in a sailing ship we were half our lime wallowing on
wet decks, can you imagine anything quite so absurd
as that arrangement? There were days when we
couldn’t unscrew that cap — ^it was the most stupid
contrivance ever put on a ship.

Glance into the dining-room of the Berengaria. It
is as ornate, as attractively laid out with its spotless
napery and it is most often as steady as the dining-
room of a West End hotel. Every dish is the best
an artist in the kitchen can devise. The orchestra is
playing. Well-dressed men and women eat daintily
and sip expensive wines. Now look back forty odd
years. We have just hauled on deck a couple of
buckets of sea water and into them are dumped lumps

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of salt pork — so salt that to soak them in sea water
makes them fresher and more palatable. And this,
mark you, is given out with no generous hand — it is
carefully weighed — and treasured.

We managed to cadge one extra apart from the
bargaining with the steward. This was water for
cocoa at night and it was because we made a cup for
the officer on watch that he saw we had the necessary
materials. One dark night it was my turn to make
cocoa. It was blowing fresh with an occasional sea
tumbling over the rail. Foolishly I went along the
weather side of the deck to the galley, the door of
which was abreast of the fore rigging. I had opened
the galley door, had just time to see the cook, car-
penter, sailmaker and donkey-man sitting on the
bench before the fire smoking, when we shipped a
lump of a sea in the fore rigging. The first thing I
knew was that I was sprawling in the lee scuppers.
That sea had lifted me into the galley, swept me right
across it, and deposited me through the other door and
on to the deck again. It had also done much the
same for the galley’s occupants ! We were all mixed
up in the scuppers together, and you may take it as
official that the language was neither polite nor com-
plimentary. But I learned my lesson and on a bad
night the weather side of the deck knew me no more.

I lost one comrade in the old Cedric. He was
coming from the deck aft about 2.30 in the middle
watch. A big sea was running, mountains high.
Before he reached the poop one of those mountains

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THEN AND NOW

ran at us and came down like thunder on the deck.
Every man at such a moment seized anything handy
in order to hold on for his life. But this boy was
caught without any shelter or available hand-hold.
The sea picked him up, lifted him right over the rail
and we never saw more of him.

Yet which were the great days — those or these ?
At any rate those were filled with high adventure
when a boy’s heart would sing with the joy of living
and the fervour of rude health. And how much we
miss here on the Atlantic run with our days given to
ease and pleasure, comfort of body and the satisfying
of luxurious appetite. These good folk going to and
fro in big ships seldom see the real wonders of deep
waters. I catch a fleeting glimpse of a slim youth
perched aloft in the mizzen with the quiet of a tropic
sea all round him. He was a young apprentice
named Rostron. He was ” admirin’ of the view ”
that morning. There had just been a squall of rain
and as he paused in his job a moment there grew
across the sky an amazing thing. A' complete rainbow
— or rather should I caU it a rain-circle ? For the
vivid colours not only made a perfect arc across the
entire dome above him but to his wide eyes marked
unbroken paths from the horizon on each side, making
it seem as though that brilHant band ran in a complete
circle above and below with the ship in the centre.
The arc was slightly flattened in its reflection on the
water, giving the effect of an oval.

In these northern latitudes you don’t get the

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apparent phenomenon that I have seen — of rain
pouring on one side of the ship’s deck while the other
side is absolutely dry, so sharply defined are some
tropical storms.

Another interesting thing I witnessed as a boy was
the formation of a waterspout and its dissolution. The
lower part of a black (nimbus) rain-cloud began to
form in the shape of an elephant’s trunk. Slowly it
commenced to swing backwards and forwards. As it
did so I noticed the sea immediately under this trunk
show signs of disturbance. This increased while that
trunk end for all the world seemed to reach down-
wards — seekingly. Suddenly there came a rush
upwards of the water and the cloud trunk darted
to meet it as though it were a long-lost friend. There
they were — cloud and water locked in an embrace,
and in that position the whole column travelled across
the face of the deep, until at length it broke, the upper
part receding iirto the clouds, the lower simply flopping
back into the ocean.

And the sport we used to have during the lazier
spells from work !

When porpoises were playing round the bows and
the exigencies of work would allow, we would get out
on the dolphin striker with a grains-harpoon, which
had five prongs, and harpoon the porpoises. When
we caught one it meant fresh meat for several days
for all hands. The porpoise would be triced tail
up under the after skids and the cook would cut
steaks.

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Benito was “ grained ” in a similar manner.

Flying fish were always greatly appreciated, as they
have a delightful flavour and the ship’s cat or cats also
took away every opportunity of picldng one up on the
deck as it flopped about. Sometimes they would fly
right over the ship’s rail, but the usual procedure was
to keep the square ports open in the bulwarks. At
night we held a lamp near the port and the fish
would make for the light, but we had to be pretty
smart to pick them up else the cat would pounce on
them immediately.

OflF the Horn we fished for albatross, mollyhawks
and Gape pigeon. The albatross is a noble bird —
beautiful on the wing with sometimes a span of
14 to 15! feet, tip to tip of wing, and weighing fifteen
or more pounds. We caught these birds with a piece
of pork as bait on a fair-sized hook which we towed
astern on a good stoutline. It was most interesting
and exciting.

There was quite an unusual amount of superstition
about catching an albatross ; it was supposed to bring
bad luck. Many old sailors I knew firmly believed
the souls of sailors lost at sea inhabited albatross.

We caught sharks in a similar manner, only the
hook was a huge thing with a piece of chain a fathom
long so that the fish could not bite it through. We
caught these ocean scavengers and man-eaters with
great gusto. Immediately the shark was hauled on
to the deck a long hand-spike was pushed down its
throat and the beast secured to a stanchion ; it was

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killed and then cut up. The backbone when cleaned
and wired was used for making walking sticks.

Now here is an interesting thing about the shark.
When danger threatens it swallows its young, disgorg-
ing them again when in safe waters. I know the taste
of young shark as I ate one for breakfast one day
when I remember we had eight sharks on deck, three
of which had young.

On the same morning — we were becalmed near the
line in the Pacific — ^we had sent away a boat which
returned with twelve large turtle, and, in addition,
one had been “ grained ” earlier in the morning.
That sounds like a Lord Mayor’s banquet, doesn’t
it? But . . . not a soul on board knew anything
about making turtle soup ! The cook managed to get
us a few turtle steaks — ^but they were not relished.

Occasionally we would see a fight between a whale
and a thrasher. The latter, after the whale has been
feeding, comes alongside Mr. Whale and thrashes
himself out of the sea on to the head of the mammal
to make him disgorge his catch. To see a whale stand
on its tail and come down with a thunderous crash
to try and kill its tormentor — a beastly sneak-thief—
is particularly interesting.

Off Cape of Good Hope we would sometimes pass
through shoals of fish — ^fish of different kinds. Even
shoals of salmon are met and we could catch them
hand over hand — ^but we even got tired of fresh
salmon !

I think the most weird noise one can hear at sea

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THEN AND NOW

is the call of the penguins down by the Horn on a dark
stormy night. The birds come out many miles from
land and the call they make is very similar to the
human cry of distress.

Ah well, a long way off those times. Now we run
to a time-table, heedless of storm and calm.

It seems like peeping into another age to catch a
glimpse of the days when we used to man the capstan
(to heave in the ropes or warp the ship along) and
the windlass (to weigh the anchor). It’s all done by
steam now or electricity. And dead are the old
chanties we sang — yelled so lustily as we worked.
Instead, the noise of the winches offends the ear. No
rattle and fall of coal making a night hideous ; we
spread our white wings and let the breezes bowd us
along with a song in the rigging and music at the
prow. Another step has brought oil in place of coal
and clean clothes for the stokers below', who turn on
taps instead of shovelling night and day stripped to
the waist. Dare we look ahead for our next phase ?
Will it be flying ? It’s a long way off. We have much
to learn before there can be any rehability in flight
across the Atlantic. Surface vessels have too much
in their favour for the air to displace them — accom-
modation for one thing and reliability as yet, for
another.

I can look back to the nights on a passenger ship
when one wax candle afforded all the illumination
between two cabins. Hot water was carried to the
passengers in jugs ; baths were luxuries. Smoke-

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rooms were just being added ; libraries were
practically unknown.

Progress has meant two things — speed and comfort,
though with us it has always been safety first. Out
of common experience a hundred devices have come
into use that make for safety— inventions apart
altogether from lifeboats, bulkheads, and so on.
Wireless, wireless direction-finders, the fathometer
(for taking soundings), smoke and fire detectors.

Many people imagine the lot of a captain and his
officers on a modern liner is one round of pleasure
and good food. We do mix with the passengers and
share with them the luxuries of the ship. We have
excellent quarters which make old berths look like
the cheapest kind of doss-houses. But that is not all.
See these same men on the bridge. It is a wintry
night. A gale is sending the spray over as high as
the bridge, though that may be ninety feet above the
water-line. The rain beats into the face, striking like
pellets from a gun — one of the penalties of great speed.
The visibility is bad. It’s bitterly cold. There are
other ships somewhere in the vicinity.

These officers have no time now for comfort or for
laziness. All that luxury, all that sense of safety
enjoyed by the passengers dancing below, are in these
men’s care,

A sudden emergency — a quick decision.

Down below no one knows of it, that threat of
trouble, but on the bridge a thrill has run up a man’s
spine to be followed by a sigh of relief, All’s well.

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CHAPTER XV

A WORD FOR THE MEN

O NE of the most significant changes that has taken
place in the Merchant Navy during the past
fifty years is in regard to the personnel. Gone are
the days when it was almost an understood thing —
certainly never a surprising one — that a ship’s crew
should come on board for a voyage all hopelessly
drunk. It meant kicks and douches of cold water to
get enough life into them to work the vessel out of
portj and days would pass before anything in the shape
of discipline could be established. If we were forced
(usually through desertions) to take on hands in
foreign ports, the very lowest dregs of humanity were
what we got, shoved on board insensible by villains
who sold the men into this servitude. Watch a crew
come on board a modern liner and y'ou will see a
set of men as sober, as efficient, and as keen as any
group of workers going into a business premises. More,
I should venture to urge, because they haven’t the
manifold distractions of workers on shore ; they are
thrown more together and naturally grow into a sort
of brotherhood. It is in fact a big club of which
every one is a member, rather than a community of
separate workers.

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The ship is full of social life among the crew.

When in port the majority of the men prefer to
remain on board. The attractions on shore are many
and various, but I believe the seaman has a far
greater sense of his responsibilities to-day than
formerly, and prefers to save all he can for his family
at home.

The men are quieter and remain in the same
ships for years, which is sufficient guarantee of their
character.

It is both pleasant and interesting to note this
change during the last twenty years. Nowadays,
when one meets these men on shore, they are well
dressed, self-respecting, quiet members of the com-
munity, men to be proud of, men who are everywhere
trusted and highly respected.

The passengers themselves derive the benefit of
this change.

Nor is it chiefly the cost of entertainment on shore
that keeps the men on the ship ; they stay because
they find more interest among their comrades.

Each voyage in New York the committee of the
various clubs would arrange social and athletic events.
Several times a year the crew would give a dance in
New York with permission to invite a number of
friends. An orchestra would be engaged, or, as was
often the case, the men’s own orchestra would provide
the music. Concerts were given, occasionally friends
from shore augmenting the concert party.

I witnessed an excellent pantomime on board the

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Bcrcngaria a year or two ago played entirely by
members of the crew. Nearly every voyage the men
would have a cinema show. Mr. Bell, the representa-
tive of the Seamen’s Union in New York, was untiring
in his efforts to keep the men happy and contented
when in port and we all owe him a deep sense of
gratitude for his unfailing courtesy in coming down,
often at great inconvenience to himself.

Again, a whist drive w'ould take place with jolly good
prizes for the successful players, prizes being provided
from the small entrance fees, etc. Football, cricket,
tennis all in their due seasons. The trophy cabinets
on board the ships testify to the prowess of the several
teams — each ship holds some beautiful souvenirs in
the form of silver cups. Boat racing, inter-depart-
mental and international, takes place annually,
the Inter-departmental Cup and medals being given
by the Gunard S.S. Company. One smiled sometimes
to see the deck hands soundly beaten by the stewards.
It is astonishing the interest the men take in their
clubs and each ship is most jealous of its reputation.

Besides the social and athletic clubs, there is the
Sick Benefit Club, the men paying a small subscrip-
tion each voyage to keep in benefit. Should a member
fall sick a certain amount is paid to him. If a member
should pass away his nearest relatives receive quite a
respectable amount to help over bad times.

The ship’s company of the Berengaria provided a cot
in the Southampton Children’s Hospital, the ;^6oo
necessary for the cot being raised in two years. These

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things keep the men together, and it is no wonder that
the Service to-day is as different as chalk from cheese
from what it was even twenty years ago. I found
out long ago that if you want good work, good men,
loyalty and service, one must appeal to the human
instinct of his men.

Not only I but every officer under me did our
utmost to foster this spirit of camaraderie ; it made not
only for general comfort but for general efficiency. I
often wonder business houses don’t do more than they
do towards this happy goal.

I remember some years ago attending a dinner in
New York at which several big business men were
present. Politics was represented that night by
President Taft, and education, business and other
professions had distinguished members there. Next
to me was a famous educationist. After dinner we
swung our chairs and chatted. My table companion
and I were talking about his sphere of work in life.

“You have a Chair of Greek, a Chair of Engineer-
ing, and lots more Chairs at your university,” I
remarked, “ but, to my mind, in yours, and all other
similar institutions, there is still a vacant Chair.”

“ Oh,” said he, his brows raised. “ And what’s
that ? ”

“ A Chair of Humanity,” I answered.

I don’t think he took that very seriously, yet a few
months afterwards I read in an English newspaper
that the very thing — a Chair of Humanity — -had been
established at one of our own universities.

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A WORD FOR TFIE MEN

The sailor is so close to nature that you need to have
this human understanding of him to make him happy
in his job. And it is to that understanding, existing
as it did on all the ships of which I had command,
that I put down the long record of smooth working.
There was always a spirit of goodwill prevailing.

Let me tell you of an occasion to prove what I say.
It was in 1925 when there was a sort of world strike
on among ships’ crews — a disaffection that w^as
obviously engineered by Bolshevik propaganda. It
was unauthorized ; that is, our own Seamen’s Unions
were not behind it and did not wish to support it.
Yet the trouble grew, and men like Havelock Wilson
were doing their best to frustrate its .spread. Wilson
had gone to Canada to see wdiat he could do, for the
unrest was at work there, out in Australia, South
Africa — everywhere. Tw^o days from New York I
received a wireless from him asking if he could hold
a meeting on the Mauretania. I at once answered :
“ Certainly.”

On arrival, there was a letter from him suggesting
that the meeting should be held on the following
Sunday. He came at eleven o’clock and I had the
crew mustered.

There were several other men with Wilson, and I
met them in the library.

“ Is everything all right ? ” the leader asked, and I
detected a note of nervousness underlying his question.

“ Yes,” I told him.

“ Will they receive me ? ”

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He explained that on other ships he had met several
hostile receptions and he didn’t want to have any
unpleasantness if he could help it.

I sent for the staff captain to interview the assembled
men ; told him to point out that Mr. Wilson had come
to talk to them and that I expected them to receive
him courteously ; that he was our guest on board and
they were to listen to what he had to say,

“ How did they take it ? ” Wilson asked the staff
captain when he returned.

“ All right,” said the officer.

While my officer had been on his errand, Wilson
told me he had already been on two ships in New
York and his reception had been decidedly unfriendly ;
he had, in fact, been told to “ get out ” ; that was
why he wished to know the attitude of our men.

“ Don’t you worry ; this is the Mauretania, '' I said.
“ They will listen to you all right,”

They received him very well. He was so struck
with their behaviour, the sportsmanlike manner of
the meeting, that he came home with us that very
voyage, finding more and more evidence of the fact
that officers and men on board were good shipmates.
There was no strike among our crew.

Men have hesitated to leave a happy ship even to
improve themselves ! I remember on the Mauretania
four officers hated a parting, though promotion caused
it. They had grown to be quite a famous bridge four.
But a deck officer moved on and then Mr. J. W.
Lawler, the purser, changed to the Aquitania,

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A WORD FOR THE MEN

We gave him a presentation and a rousing send-oif,
but had the bridge four not have been already broken
he would have found it harder to break away.

They are a good lot, these men who use the sea.
I could write a volume about them. The demands
of the travelling public for better and better service
have tended to bring into the big liners a far finer type
of man, just as the change from coal to oil highered
the social standing of the engine-room staff. The old
haphazard ways went, and with regular sailings, really
excellent food and comfortable accommodation, a
higher class of worker was attracted. Concerning
officers, examinations became harder because the
larger ships meant greater responsibilities just as they
also meant better conditions.

The sailor to-day is a serious, sober fellow. I have
seen him change from the reckless devil-may-care who
took every advantage of considerateness, thinking it
softness, and who understood an order better if the
man who gave it could enforce it with his fists if
necessary.

He is devout in his way. There is a simple faith
which is his far more than is in evidence amongst
shore workers. He doesn’t boast about his beliefs but
is not ashamed of them. I recall a member of my
crew who fell ill and developed a serious internal
complaint, so quickly that an operation was immedi-
ately necessary. It was performed by the ship’s
surgeon at sea. After a few days I went down to see
how he was going on. He was perfectly cheerful.

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“ I knew it was going to be all right,” he said. “ Just
before the operation I said a little prayer — didn’t I,
nurse ? ” he finished, addressing the girl at his bed-
side. Not often does the sailor speak so openly as
that of his faith, but it is there sure enough and if you
think of it, it is natural it should be. Nature in all her
moods is round about him ; it is so easy a step from
watching nature in her vigorous strength and in the
serenity of her beauty at sea, to an abiding belief
that behind it all there is a destiny shaping our
ends.

No, he doesn’t talk much. And he objects to be
made the object of window-dres.sing by those who do.
He likes practice, not precept, and will turn from the
ranting professional religionist, but be glad to meet
the type of cleric who lights a pipe and pushes his
pouch across the table for a share.

This faith followed us through the war. There were
times then when I have steamed on through fog know-
ing from their whistles that other ships have been about.
Once on the Banks I went ahead and there seemed so
many small craft around that surely a line must have
opened for us to go through. Something told me it
was all right, just as at other times I had the hunch
to stop.

And how often we ignored the order sent out from
the Admiralty that all shipping on receipt of news that
a submarine had struck must shape a course twenty
miles to port or starboard. It was one of those foolish
orders that was thought out by some office official,

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I should think. In the Mediterranean we should
never have reached our destination but have made a
grasshopper course all over the sea, so many sub-
marines were operating. As often as not I ignored
the report of a submarine attack and went right over
the spot where it had taken place. It was as safe as
any other. We were never hit.

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CHAPTER XVI

“GO TO SEA, MY LADS”

I F we lose faith in the merchant service ; if we allow
other countries to creep in and surpass us ; if
we fall so far behind in the world race that we cannot
find sufficient trade to keep our ships full and busy
about the seas, then England will be on the decline.
For our ships are the barometers of our prosperity.

Again, if that love of the seafaring life is extinguished
in our youth, the spirit that has made us will flicker
and die. Therefore, with whatever inspiration I can
instil into the words, I bring a message to the boys of
England to turn their eyes to the sea that surrounds
us and regard it as among the great jobs they can go
for.

At the moment things maritime are none too rosy.
There are hundreds of thousands of tons of shipping
held up in harbours round the coast because there is
no profitable business for them to do j hundreds of
ships idle ; it’s a bit heartbreaking. And the big
liners are suffering in similar manner from the
universal depression. But I will not be pessimistic ;
things are showing some signs of improvement, and
as soon as the depression is past there will be probably
more travellers than ever — especially from America.

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a

Perhaps, too, we shall learn not to permit foreign
ships to keep busy bringing in foreign goods that
compete with our own and, instead, use our own ships
to carry merchandise backwards and forwards among
the far-flung parts of our own Empire.

There’s a good job of work at sea for a British boy.
I am often asked what sort of a career it offers. I
always answer that it depends on the boy. Is he keen ;
does the call of the sea and its glamour of movement
pull more than office life and gay hose ; is he prepared
to work with no eye on the clock ; and has he patience
enough to wait the opportunity to gain promotion ?
If so, he’ll have a good healthy life, be of some real
service to the world and, even though he may not land
one of the coveted appointments such as command of
a big liner, he will get his ship, live well, and in age
can find himself with a sufficient competence.

He won’t have to go through the mill like we did
forty years ago. He won’t go into sail at all now,
and I am not one who thinks an officer trained entirely
in steam is not just as capable of commanding the
biggest ship afloat as the man who has been through
all the training of a sailing ship. He may not be an
all-round sailor ; but he can be a thoroughly efficient
seaman.

I recommend every boy going to sea to have a
couple of years on one of the training cadet ships such
as the Conway in the Mersey, the Worcester in the
Thames, or the nautical training school Pangbourne.
He will get invaluable ground-work, and it is also a

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good test as to whether he will like the life. For he’s
got to go through several years of hard woi'k even if
he does not have to face the gruelling and exposure
we youngsters had — and let me assure you my early
experiences were by no means exceptional. Other
boys in bad ships lived through horrors that fortun-
ately were not our lot, because the ships I served in
were as good as any afloat, with splendid ofEcers who
found no especial joy in “ taking it out ” of a lad.

The modern apprentice goes straight into a steamer,
and after all, it’s a man’s life with a chance to see this
world of ours. He will have to work, he will have
to study. Navigation is of paramount importance.
That is readily understood when I tell you it costs
as much as ;£'6 in fuel alone to drive a modern liner
every mile it goes through the water. Every revolu-
tion of the engines that is made extra, because the
vessel has veered from the straightest course, is wasting
the owners’ money.

The majority of officers must be content to remain
in cargo ships ; only a select few will reach the bridge
of a big liner. But command of any sort is achieve-
ment ; a responsible and satisfying job of work. One
thing that puts a young man off, I suppose, is the loss
of home life. If you feel you must get home to your
meals, then the sea is not for you. At one period in
my career four years went by during which I did not
have forty-eight consecutive hours’ leave. And I was
an officer in a liner at that !

After three or four years as an apprentice — ^for good-

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35

ce

ness’ sake be a real, working apprentice, with your
coat oflF and shirt-sleeves rolled up — ^you’ll sit for your
second mate’s examination. Stick to cargo ships,
learn how everything is done and how to do it. Leave
the liners, if that is your ambition, until later on.
Treat the men under you so as not to lose them their
self-respect and you may be sure they will be more loyal
servants if, when occasion arises for complaint on your
part, you know what you are talldng about and can
do yourself what you are asking of them.

Then your mate’s ticket and, after another twelve
or eighteen months at sea, you sit for master or extra
master. The worst of your troubles are then over and
the next thing is to secure a position in a good com-
pany. Rolling stones gather no moss and you won’t
get anyvvdiere by constantly changing lines. If your
thoughts are on a first-class liner, you must be prepared
to wait perhaps twenty years for your big chance, but
you will get command quicker if you stick to cargo
ships. For one thing, far more training is essential
for the crack liners. Let us have a look round and
you will get some idea of the job ahead.

The liner captain must be something of an hotel
manager — of a tip-top hotel at that. He must under-
stand food and cooking. Service is very important if
passengers are to be satisfied and recommend one
vessel as against another — ^and competition is as keen
in this respect as it is among first-class hotels on shore.
You have to watch your waiters and see that their
work is efficient and respectful.

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The reader would be aghast at the quantities and
weights of different articles we carry. Table silver
and cutlery would go into thousands of pieces and
weigh tons. Linens, with bed linen and blankets, may
easily reach well over one hundred thousand pieces.
The usual home laundry of a moderate household
might run into dozens, but with a large liner many
thousands. I remember on one occasion we had been
delayed by fog, having to anchor outside New York
Harbour for forty-eight hours. We eventually arrived
at our dock in New York and made fast at 10.30 a.m.,
being due to sail at 2.30 next morning — sixteen hours !

We sailed at 2.30 on scheduled time and in the
meantime we had sent 40,000 pieces of linen to the
laundry. By 2 a,m. next day it was all back on board
and stowed away in the linen rooms — cleaned, dried
and packed in its parcels of dozens. The ship was
restored with provisions and had taken on board nearly
5,000 tons of fresh water and 6,000 tons of oil fuel by
2.30 a.m. We had landed all our passengers and their
baggage and by 8 p.m. the ship was ready to receive
our hundreds of passengers crossing to France and
England.

At 9.30 p.m. on the day of arrival our outward cargo
was not quite discharged, nor was there a bag of
homeward mail on board. At 2.30 a.m. we sailed
with over 12,000 bags of mail and about 1,200 tons
of cargo. Sixteen hours after mooring up the ship
at the dock we were unmooring for our return voyage ;
surely a record for such service, and this was the

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it

Berengaria. Organization and system, plus team work
and willing hands did this, and the job was a credit to
those who performed the supervision. The sea is no
place for eight-hour-a-day men.

Speaking of numbers ; the largest liners will carry
from fifty to sixty or more lifeboats on her decks. And
it often amused me to hear passengers speak of such
a ship as the Berengaria as a boat. “ Boat ? ” would
be my reply. “ We carry scores of boats ; perhaps
you mean the ship.”

It may be interesting to know that even to this day
these huge ships are referred to as Mail Packets, a term
of one hundred years ago. What a chasm has been
crossed during that hundred years !

Every voyage the captain will inspect his entire
ship, taking a section each day. He will test ventila-
tion, see that the heating is right, track down any
odours there may be, make sure the water supply is
good. He will visit the kitchens and store-rooms, and
it’s no use just looking in, he’s got to know the work
so that he can inquire intelligently about it. The
conduct of the whole crew will find a reflection from
the capabilities of the captain. He will commend
when things are in good order and kick when they’re
not. He should understand something about print-
ing, for this is quite an important branch of work.
Hundreds of menus are printed each day, ordinary
and special ; notices of horse-racing, boxing matches
and other pastimes ; concert programmes ; notices
for passengers’ guidance ; many cards in connexion

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with the navigation of the ship, to say nothing of the
daily newspaper.

He will take an interest in the hospitals. These are
very up to date. In other days we had one surgeon,
no nurses ; now there are two surgeons, in addition to
dispensers, sisters, and attendants. Everything on the
ship is improved like that. Where once our orchestra
was composed of three, there are now a dozen or more
performers. T wo men are entirely concerned with the
running of the cinema. There is a man in charge of the
gym. — we go and see him and have him put the electric
animals and vibrators working to see they are in order,
Another attendant is looking after the swimming pool,
another the Turkish bath. The captain wants to be
assured the water in the pool is fresh and clean ; and he
will discuss questions of heating with the gardener.

He will, of course, inspect all the logs. The sur-
geon’s could reveal interesting stories. At times there
are births on board — ^not as many as there used to be !
In old days we expected one or more every voyage — do
you guess why ? It was a fact that emigrants arranged
their travel over so that those events could take place
en route. They got the best of treatment, the height
of comfort and the most skilled of attention — all for
nothing ! Besides that, it was quite the custom for the
passengers to get up a subscription for the new-comers.

The wireless room will be visited. This is
equivalent to the business-man’s office telephone.

Lots of messages will come from head office.
Sometimes it is to give information to the purser

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about the number of passengers expected next voyage ;
or it may be for the purser to inform someone that
a sum of money lias been paid into the office to his
credit ; in fact the nature of these messages received
from head office might be likened to the telephone
instructions from the manager’s office to every
department of a large and scattered works.

The sight of the wireless officers sitting at their instru-
ments, sending and receiving messages in the quiet,
tense atmosphere of their room, has always fascinated
me. I used to watch them and wonder from what
distant part of the globe the next message might come.

I was always intensely interested also in the wireless
equipment on board, and the senior wireless officer
took a keen delight in explaining his latest gadgets
to me. What a far cry from those early days when
one hundred miles’ range was an absolute marvel !
Now the range is — round the world.

Inspections should be taken seriously and by no
means cursorily. Perhaps I made a bit of a fetish
of them. I remember, anyhow, during the war, in
the hernia while laying at Malta, I was going rounds,
in company with the commanding officer of the troops.
The men thought it was a bit uncanny what a knack
I had for pulling out just the one locker that was
untidy or discovering a piece of crockery that was out
of sight and dirty. On our way round that morning
a message came down that a communication had
arrived from the Admiralty Superintendent on shore
ordering us to proceed by signal.

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“ Will you carry on with the inspection ? ” I asked
the commanding officer. “ I must go on the bridge.”

You could almost hear the sighs of relief ; in two
minutes it was all over the ship — “ The skipper’s on
the bridge.” They were free of my practised eye for
the day.

Apart from this touring of the premises, so to speak,
the captain is responsible for everything, including
good conduct. He will get some knotty little problems
brought before him — and he has no policeman to call
in and no court to apply to. He is magistrate and
court while at sea. Two years ago on the Berengaria
we had on board a suspected person. I was warned
that he was crossing for the purpose of being put on
trial for something — it was a financial matter, not any
violent crime. On the voyage he wished to send
some wireless messages. The operator, knowing the
circumstances, came to me and asked whether he
should send them or not. Now, this man had been
offered the alternative of being brought over in charge
of a detective, under a sort of open arrest and subject,
therefore, to strict surveillance, or paying his passage
and having the freedom of an ordinary traveller. He
quite understood that he would be arrested on arrival,
but he had chosen to pay passage for himself and his
wife and therefore he was officially in my eyes an
ordinary first-class passenger.

“ Yes, send the messages,” I ordered the wireless
officer, “ but,” I added, “ keep careful note of what
they are so that they can be produced should they

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have any bearing on the case.” They were all
dispatched and I heard no more about them.

Seeing that on a ship we are, as it were, a complete
community afloat — all compact like a little walled-in
city — ^it is only to be expected that we get a constant
mixture of comedy and tragedy.

Crossing once from Southampton to Cherbourg we
had on board an engaged couple who were to be
met on arrival by the lady’s punctilious mamma. The
young man was evidently a bit fearful of the ordeal of
that meeting — the first, I gathered. And he gre\v
alarmed when we ran into fog and had to lie to in
the Channel. I believe the safety of a thousand souls
was nothing to the horror of what his intended’s
mother might say at him and his sweetheart being
together all night on the ship. I couldn’t help secretly
smiling when he poured forth his “ trouble ” into my
attentive ear — I was so accustomed to the younger
generation’s unconventionality that this Victorian
temerity was hardly credible.

Turning from that, one gets perhaps a message from
shore when far at sea asking if the captain will be good
enough to break some unhappy piece of news to
someone on board — perhaps that a near relative has
passed away. They think a personal recital of the
event will come softer than a soulless message by
wireless.

Every captain gets a score of frivolous complaints
before he has commanded a liner a thousand years.
It’s amazing how people complain about nothing —

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especially, I suspect, that type of person who, at home,
is not at all accustomed to one-quarter the luxuries he
— or she ! — has on board. And he’ll have to be very
patient and polite — and firm — ^with the ladies who
insist on having their dogs sleep in their cabins. “ Oh,
but we haven’t been parted for years,” an elderly lady
will cry, but the decree has to be issued — and the lady
not too offended if one can help it.

Speaking of animals, sometimes we get curious live
cargo. I have already referred to the poisonous
snakes we once carried. On another occasion the
Mauretania was chosen as the transport for a lion. It
was to be turned over to the Zoo in New York. On
arrival, the case was got to the boat deck and there,
as it was being handled, came an ominous creak and
it went over. Everyone scurried for cover. After a
few minutes of intense quietness a man crawled up
to it. No damage. The cage was then hoisted up
and was actually being swung out to the dock when the
bottom fell out. So, of course, did the lion — ^plump
into the water. That lion made rather a fuss about
the way America was receiving him, and I can assure
you we were mighty glad when he was eventually
lassoed by men who chased after him in boats.
Suppose he had scrambled ashore somewhere. . . .

All luggage is officially in the captain’s care and
it is up to him to inquire into damage, and so on.
There’s a lot of it nowadays, but no increase in traffic
equals the Christmas mail. When I was extra second
in the Etruria and, therefore, also mail officer, we took

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ce

))

over what was at that time the record number of
mail-bags one Christmas — 2,800. In recent years
12,000 to 15,000 bags is not exceptional. More
goodwill on the earth, evidently !

Everything is submitted to the captain. He has
to decide and, what is more, has to stand for his
decision when the ship reaches port and all things
come under the legal code of the land. But the
passengers’ troubles are only a slight part of his task.
He has to determine all questions about the safe
running of the ship. Many people think, for instance,
that when a pilot comes aboard the captain’s authority
and responsibility are superseded. Not at all. The
captain is still the captain — even over the pilot. I
have known a pilot run a ship aground because, poor
fellow, he was on the verge of a seizure and was not
responsible for what he was doing at the time. The
captain of that vessel would have been blamed if he
had not been at the man’s side and was instantly
ready to rectify the mistake he made. In the same
way in many a Mediterranean port when our large
vessel has been pretty well hemmed in by small craft,
a pilot has sworn that it was impossible to proceed
to sea.

“ Not it,” I have told him. “ Watch ! ” And I
have nosed my ship through a swarm of small boats,
gently shoving them out of the way, until I have been
clear. The pilot wanted tugs to go ahead and do this
— ^more expense.

Indeed, very often it was but a trick on the part

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of a native pilot who was in collusion with the tug-
owner and shared in the fees. A captain has always
to be on the look out for the cheat. There are tricks
in every trade, I suppose, but some in the shipping
business are a bit startling — especially when you get
east of Gibraltar.

The Black Sea seems a natural home for chicanery.
Several times I have been asked by a British Consul
to survey a ship that has gone aground. You get
three guineas for that job and of course conveyance
expenses, but each occasion I discovered the skipper
of the stranded vessel expected to receive a third of
that modest fee — as though to say but for him I should
not have the job of inspecting damage, and so on.

That’s not “ serious,” but what is downright dis-
honesty are those pilots who deliberately in certain
places in the Black Sea ran their ships agi-ound.
They picked out favourable conditions, ran her on
some hospitable spit of soft sand at high water and
there she stranded. It means — if the trick is care-
fully handled — ^no damage to the hull, but it entails
help from tugs and lighters to take off cargo so that
she can be refloated. That costs money — and Fm
sorry to say the “ earnings ” were split between the
parties concerned.

On the other hand, the honest captain is always open
to be shot at until a man has established a reputation
for playing fair himself and jolly well seeing others
play fair with him. Shore traders will try a dozen
methods of cheating him.

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ts

)S

You don’t want to go east of Suez to have a coal
merchant or a ship chandler charge exorbitant prices
for supplies. I’ve known some pretty sharp practice
when I first had command, and it was rather fortunate
I had met captains of many years’ service in the
Mediterranean who gave me their experiences and
warned me of the tricks of this trade in every port
east of Gibraltar.

Goal was just a black harvest for many coal mer-
chants, and the dodges they resorted to were often
ingenious. In most of these ports ships were coaled
from lighters, the cubical contents being taken to
obtain the amount of coal. Some lighters would load
as much as two hundred tons, others a mere fifty, but
I soon learnt that both large and small lighters
required not only careful measurement but close
inspection if we were to receive our full weight.

It may sound a bit incredible, but it is a fact that
hollow spaces — ^wire cages — were sometimes con-
structed in lighters, the coal piled all round and
above. In others tubs and packing-cases would be
left lying at the bottom, all of which meant a ship
was not getting the quantity ordered and paid for.

Another favourite pastime of the coal suppliers was
carefully — ^though apparently carelessly — to allow coal
in process of loading ship to fall overboard into the
water. When the ship had left, expert divers went
down and retrieved what had been “ lost.” I have
even known cases in which quite openly the fuel is
dredged for. On occasion as much as five per cent.

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of coal in this way has been lost to the ship — and
saved to the merchant.

Many pow-wows have taken place over quantity,
but always to accuse these gentry of direct dishonesty
only brought tears to their eyes and the pious cry that
they “ never did such a thing, Mister Captain.”

I doubt — ^Icnowing the breed — ^whether these twisters,
with their ill-gotten gains in their pockets, ever paused
to wonder what might happen if, because of their tricks,
a ship was left stranded with empty bunkers.

I saw my chief engineer was up to their tricks and
the way he and his assistants watched a barge when
coaling you might have thought its contents were really
black diamonds. ButGunard chief engineers are not
anybody’s babies to be fooled by coal-lighter people.
I’ve seen rows and I’ve heard the King’s English
spoken and shouted with additions that would satisfy
any professor of the necessity of keeping a dictionary
up to date !

When it comes to supplying stores — i.e. eatables —
then the chief steward is responsible and you can
depend on it, whether east of Gibraltar or west of that
port, north or south, he has his eyes and nose well
functioning to be able to detect fraud in either quantity
or quality.

On the Atlantic run our catering was spread over all
the three countries served — ^England, France and
America. Some articles are cheaper here, some there.
Large as is the problem of feeding a ship, the affair
has through years of experience been brought down

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5 >

to a science. There are naturally occasions when a
sudden influx of passengers at the last moment creates
the necessity of providing for and serving hundreds
of meals more than was anticipated. Nowadays it
merely means sending a chit to the caterers to provide
for so many more passengers and engaging another
dozen or so stewards — they are always ready to hand.

To see the reception and examination of stores as
they arrive alongside is a most interesting exhibition
of housekeeping. Chief steward or second steward
and his assistants smelling, testing and feeling samples
from every crate, box or bag before it is allowed to
go on board. See the butcher pinch his meats, the
chef his chickens with a look of approval or otherwise
as the crates of game, etc., are unloaded ready for
their attention. The storing gang provide a lesson to
many a housewife but, of course, these men have the
advantage, they haven’t paid for it, though they are
accountable for every egg-shell that passes on board.

Gone are the days when the storekeeper issued ad
lib. to any request for an article under his supervision.
Now waste is eliminated to such an extent that it is just
as if every ounce was paid for over the counter in a
store or shop. The storekeeper weighs in ounces, not
merely in pounds, and every order is signed and
countersigned. The quantity is served neither one
over nor one less.

The amount of food thrown over from an Atlantic
liner thirty or more years ago fed most of the whales
and larger fish in North Atlantic ; the gulls knew a

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liner as well as any shore person. Now there’s a
scarcity of whales, and gulls seem to have adopted
birth control !

There used to be a joke that you seldom saw a gull
anywhere near a vessel hailing north of the Tweed ;
they had no confidence in finding a meal from such
ships, but to-day in no big passenger ship is there
waste.

I remember in my sailing ship days the firms owning
the ships would have their house flags even as the
shipping firms at the present day. Sometimes you
might see a house flag — a red square flag perhaps and
on it three letters, maybe — ^W.S.M. — and you can
imagine what the men in such a line would name it ;
Want, Starvation, Misery — and it’s wonderful really
how aptly many of those lines were named from the
letters or designs on their house flags.

This rather reminds me of an old gag concerning the
reputation of shipowners who favoured a certain
locality in these islands. Their. ships were not noted
for generous food allowance to the crew — ^Board of
Trade scale was their motto ; they paid their captains
and officers and men simply because they had to pay.
But the locality, and it was pretty extensive at that,
was a chapel one and it was said about the shipowners :
“ They pray on their knees on Sundays and prey on
their sailors the rest of the week.” There was a deal
of truth in it. They were as a rule a mean lot.

It may not be generally known, but many suspicious
cases have come to light not only in days gone by but

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in fairly recent times, in which ambitious would-be
ship-owners bought up some old vessel for a mere song ;
insured the ship for a good sum, sent her to sea on her
legitimate business with a pious hope she would never
return. Many ships never did return. Lost with all
hands and no reason was given, none found ; simply
“ lost at sea.” Probably if the truth had been told
many of these ships were “ lost ” before they left
port.

You’ve got to remember in this connexion that no
compensation was given when “ all hands ” were lost
with their ship ; no compensation if a man fell from
aloft and was fatally or seriously injured. Nothing
if men were washed overboard or fell overboard when
at sea simply because those men were doing all they
could to save the company’s property. And wages
were two pounds a month for seamen — officers and
masters a little higher ; food, just B.O.T. allowance
and diddled over that when possible. The seaman
was just the fool to be sent to do the dirty work, take
all the risks and chances and, as to the officers and
master, the responsibility as well.

The world is changing, and time too. Many ships
of years ago were just “ coffin ships,” called such and
known as such. In nearly every case these ships
sooner or later earned their name. One can quite
understand the present power of the Unions. It took
many years to make the fool slaves realize their treat-
ment and what it could be ; took many years of hard
work, hard times, often terms of imprisonment of the

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leaders, before the unions were sufficiently powerful
to dictate their terms. But to-day, thanl^s to such
leaders as Havelock Wilson, the seaman has advan-
tages and rights which were never even dreamed of
forty years ago.

I remember on arriving in Queenstown after my
second voyage, the pilot brought us word that the
Board of Trade were issuing a new scale of provisions
for sailors. Didn’t we boys just imagine telling the
steward to go somewhere else when he offered a few
“ manavellings ” (food left over from the officers’ mess)
in exchange for a good shirt, pair of trousers, etc.
Jove, we thought he’d be coming to us to help him
with extras for the cabin table ! It didn’t eventuate
but the scale was improved — a little !

“ Full and plenty ” came in full force though when
I joined the Cunard Company. I was aghast at the
bill of fare for the men and more so when I saw how
the officers’ mess was maintained.

Often when on the bridge at night keeping watch
I caught a most appealing and appetizing smell com-
ing up from the stokehold — ^this was the stew or the
hoodie (pronounced “ ’oodle ” by the stokers) which
the men had made themselves.

When going my round of inspection even in my
late ships I would taste the soup in the crew’s kitchen
and tell the crew cook to have some sent up to my
cabin. I really enjoyed it ; the real thing — meat and
vegetables and no fancy flavouring, just the essence
of everything good. I often felt I could enjoy the

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“go to sea, my lads ”

dinner being cooked for the men ; juicy steaks and
joints, creamy potatoes boiling in the boilers or brown-
ing in the ovens ; vegetables simmering in their
boilers and the soup offering its savoury and appetizing
smell and then to finish up, perhaps a nice brown milk
pudding setting off a real home meal. I often told
my men I could never afford to have on shore such
menus as our third-class passengers have at the present
time.

The “ down unders ” of a generation or more ago
are getting infinitely better attention than those who
were the “ upper class ” at that time. Of one thing
I’m certain, neither the seamen nor the third-class
passengers get anything at home comparable to what
they are served at sea in quality, quantity or cooking.

I have had several chief stewards in my ship who
started as bell boys about the same time I joined the
Cunard Company as a junior officer, and it has always
been a pleasure to me to see how these boys have
won their positions and gained the top rung of the
ladder.

It gave me great pleasure to have under my com-
mand senior officers and staff captains who were
junior officers with me in my earlier commands and
knowing them for their true worth I feel the Cunard
Company and the travelling public need never regret
we older men are turning over our ships to the safe
keeping of the younger officers. Neither the House
flag flying at the main truck nor the Ensign flying
over the stern will ever know dishonour or incom-

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petency as long as such officers and men I’ve known
are in command.

There is sdll one department on board which is most
deserving of special notice — ^yes, and of praise — the
Engineering Department. One can realize how the
responsibility has grown in the monster ships of the
present day, what with the complicated machinery
and all the modern innovations not only as regards
the main engines, but electrical, ventilating, safety,
water supplies with which these present-day ships are
fitted. Too much cannot be said in favour of the chief
engineers and all those whose work it is to see every
mechanical device in the ship runs smoothly and
efficiently.

It has always been a marvel to me how in the world
the engineers in these huge liners can keep track of
everything under their charge ; it’s a job which
requires brains and executive ability to run these
days, and it shows itself in the class of officers and
men in charge of the different sections.

No thumb-nail knowledge will suffice to run these
big ships ; education, study, sobriety and executive
ability are a sine qua non for any engineer officer
aspiring to join up a present-day liner.

It may interest readers to know that down below
— ^from underneath the bridge to right aft up to the
rudder post — ^there is nothing but machinery and
boilers in the largest liners of the day. And to the
engineering department I take off my hat and say :
“ Well done ! ”

GO TO SEA, MY LADS

((

>)

There’s a proverb that you can’t teach old dogs
new tricks. All I can say is that any senior man who
is incapable of assimilating sufficient knowledge to
understand all the latest and most up-to-date gadgets
now in use on board the floating palaces — well, the
sooner he swallows the anchor and moors up on shore
the better.

Despite the demands elsewhere, social and business,
it is on the bridge that the master’s chief duty lies.
He must constantly be checking and watching all the
instruments and other aids to navigation. And he
may get a visit from the chief engineer who wants to
know why we can’t keep from zigzagging and so avoid
the slip or loss of propeller power. There’s something
all the time to be looking out for. Believe me, an
officer of a liner works hard. Every one of them puts
in an average of not less than eleven to twelve hours
on duty every day at sea, what with his watch and
the overhauling of instruments and charts, hundreds
of reports that have to be made out every voyage and
the logs to be written up, and so on. By the way,
there are several logs on a ship. In the first place
there is the slate log on the bridge kept by the officer
of the watch. He records everything seen, number
of revolutions of the engine, distance, weather, and
so on. Every four hours this is copied out into the
ship’s log and the slate is wiped clean every twenty-
four hours. It is actually a slate, and a slate pencil
is used. Then there is the official log which is kept
for the Board of Trade in which is recorded everything

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concerning the members of the crew — ^wages, health,
dismissals, desertions, etc. Then there are the engine-
room, wireless and surgeon’s logs — there isn’t much
that happens on board that does not get recorded
officially.

A busy life and a good one. I can honestly say I
have enjoyed every hour of my long seafaring
experience. If I could go back I should want to do
just what I have done — and a man is lucky if, when
the time comes to retire, he can assert that. Thus
with confidence I say to the young aspirant for
captaincy in the Merchant Navy : You will have
many worries, hard times and responsibilities, but it’s
worth it all. And, as the real inspiration for your
life’s work, remember you are a unit in a great service
with hundreds of years of honourable and stirring
traditions behind it. It’s a grand profession.

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CHAPTER XVII

WHAT OF THE FUTURE?

A fter all this retrospect, let us look forward for
a few moments. What does the future hold ?
At the time of writing Great Britain possesses the speed
records of the world on land and sea and in the air.
But a German liner boasts the blue riband of the
Atlantic. Is that coveted distinction to remain hers ?
Well, we think not.

It is hardly within my sphere to go into any details
of the new Gunarder that is building on the Clyde. To
be sure, I have talked with those who are responsible for
her construction. There is one man I believe, wak-
ing and sleeping, who is thinking of nothing but those
engines which are to be fitted to this new mammoth
liner. A six million job — it’s colossal 1 A thousand
feet long — colossal too ! Yes, and a much greater
problem than the man in the street imagines,

I recall incidents when, in command of the Beren-
garia, in turning we often had but a few feet of clearance
owing to traffic and what not. I think too of that
“ S ” course which is the entrance to Southampton
Harbour. The experts have had to take all these
things into consideration in planning the greatest ship
ever floated, and in this connexion it is gratifying to

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know that the Southampton Harbour Board is alive
to the situation and intend doing their utmost to
overcome certain difficulties.

But of one thing I am sure enough — there is no sort
of danger in her actual size. Many a person, with a
little knowledge and a sense to appreciate things, has
asked me if a vessel of so great a length would not
run the risk of breaking her back in exceptionally bad
weather. These people have a picture in their minds
of all that length of hull squatted between two gigantic
waves of the Atlantic. They seem to think that when
such waves swell the ocean’s surface there is bound
to come a moment when her bows and stern will be
pitched high on two mountain tops, so to speak, with
a vast void tugging at her bottom amidships. The
builders of ships know what they are doing just
as well as the engineer who spans a gorge with a
bridge.

There is not the slightest risk about the length of the
hull. And for this reason. No ship is ever poised as
I have described, held firmly at either end with no
support in the centre. There is a point of buoyancy,
and that is certainly not at the end of the vessel. It
is in the centre of the ship. No pull there. The whole
structure gives to the rise and fall of the waves without
putting undue strain on any one part. I’ve watched
it dozens of times and never had any doubt in giving
my opinion on the subject.

As in every fresh ship added to the Atlantic run,
the new Cunarder will have even further comforts

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WHAT OF THE FUTURE ?

for her passengers, though how the present scale of
luxury is to be exceeded may seem difficult of belief.
The very fact that everything will be bigger is one
obvious recommendation — ^more accommodation for
promenading, for dancing, for games, and so on.

And what will she do by way of speed ? I cannot
say. All I am inclined to set down here is that if the
Cunard Company say they are going to do it, they
will. And if anyone can bring back the blue riband
of the Atlantic to this country, they can. The new
ship, I expect, will shorten the crossing by something
like a day.

I shall not be on her bridge. I have made my last
voyage in command of an ocean liner. And, by the
way, I may say that when I made that last voyage
I did not know it, I had put in a requisition for
retirement in May of this year. Months before that
time came round I was given leave, a gracious con-
cession. So that I never knew the last time I brought
the Berengaria to dock but what I should be taking
her across again. I think now it was a kindly act
on the part of the directors. There is a certain sense
of the ominous about a last voyage. We remember
how my predecessor as Commodore, Sir James
Charles, knew he was making his last passage. It
was in every sense of the word his last voyage. He
died almost as the ship docked.

It is, perhaps, a good thing to finish your days in
harness. But there’s something to be said for the
Home Port at the end of the job, where one can see

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the flowers under the sun, see and know better those
in the home circle from whom duty has separated one
so much — yes, more to be said for it than my pen can
properly express.

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